Project Ink 2011
by Sapphire Smoke
Summary: A collection of original short stories and Harry Potter fiction for HexRPG's competition "Project Ink."
1. Application: Drabble

_**Project Ink 2011**_

"Project Ink" is a writing competition on the website HexRPG. As far as I can tell, most of this will be original writing pieces as well as one (maybe two) Harry Potter challenges. As the site is PG-13, no story will be above that rating. There will be 15 contestants chosen out of the entire site to compete and I figure that if I'm chosen, I'd like somewhere to showcase what I've written for it. I'm not sure how many rounds there will be or if I'll even make it through all of them, but I guess we'll see! Wish me luck :)

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><p><strong>APPLICATION - DRABBLE<strong>

**Rules:  
><strong>_* 500 words maximum_  
><em>* must include the words (or any variant of):<br>__- Pursuit  
><em>_- Compatible  
><em>_- Obstruct  
><em>_- Gunfire  
><em>_- Tantalizing_

There's a softness about it; a sense of calm and clarity as everything you see becomes more defined. Fingertips slide through the grass as eyes look to the sun, wondering for a moment if this will be your defining moment; becoming a part of the sky in a blaze of heat and glory as you give life through sacrifice. The world around you is loud, it's bright; it's beauty in its richest form. You can see it, smell it… everything around you is so utterly brilliant when before its dullness crushed your senses and seemed to destroy your soul.

It's that moment, that one fleeting moment before the end, when you see everything as it is, without the obstructions of doubt and fear. Such things so easily cloud your mind and tantalize your senses into complete and utter madness. But there will be no more madness; there will be no more fear, no doubt, no tears; only oblivion and ecstasy.

The moment your heart slows you expect gunfire, an explosion of sorts that awakens you to the possibility that this is it, but there is no such brash reality. You expect your chest to tighten and the pain to come from the loss that you and everyone around you has yet to experience, but all you feel is a chill run through your veins. It comforting, in its own way; as much as one would expect cold and finality to be. There will always be a comfort in one's own final decision, as it will be the last ever made. There are no regrets; it's far too late for that even if there were.

As your eyes close and your breathing slows, you remember her name: _Aimee._ You remember the first time you held her, the first time she smiled at you. Never would you've thought that perfection could come in such a small package, yet there she was. But her perfection could not fix corruption, as desperately as you wished it could. The laughter would turn to tears and the world would blacken around you both and there would be no more perfect moments. She can feel your heart; she_ is_ your heart. In time, she would feel its rotten core and she'd know then that you shouldn't have been the one; she'd know that your foolish pursuit of the perfect lie was the thing that destroyed her heart and left her childhood in shambles.

Not everything in life in compatible. Darkness will never make the trees flourish, cold will never allow for survival. There are some decisions in life that need to be made for the greater respect of others and their destinies that have yet to be fulfilled. Selfish is not a word to be used to describe this moment; there is nothing selfish about protecting another. So as your heart beats its last, as your lungs sill in your chest, you drift away with a sense of peace, knowing this was how it should have been.


	2. Round 1: The Battle of Hogwarts

**The Task:  
><strong>_Voldemort has broken through Hogwarts' defenses and is storming the castle, his army of Death Eaters alongside him. Students are evacuating, while others run through the halls preparing the school's defense. The teachers have spread out, organizing the evacuation and lecturing those who choose to stay._

_Two armies are about to face each other in the greatest magical battle of the twentieth century. Both sides will face staggering losses, they know. Yet still they fight._

_Wand in hand, you await your orders._

Each competitor will be RPing an original character and will lead that character through the battle of Hogwarts. Everyone has been split into 5 groups of 3. Your group must decide whether you will be a team of Death Eaters or a team of students, but you cannot be a mixed group. Together, you must lead your characters through the battle. Anything goes as long as it's canon.

* * *

><p><strong>Group 5<strong>** – Playing Students:**  
>Sapphire Smoke<br>Marluxia  
>Popprincess889<p>

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><p><strong>Rules:<strong>  
>1. There are no post length maximums or minimums.<br>2. Each competitor should post at least twice. There is no maximum number of posts.  
>3. Stick to canon. You may feel free to make up spells, etc. but all the details and rules in the book must be followed here.<br>4. Original characters only, please. And if you group interacts with any canon characters, make sure everything fits with the books (for example: your characters cannot kill Bellatrix, since Molly Weasley ends up doing that).  
>5. You have one week to complete your RP.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>( Sapphire Smoke)<strong>_

Katherine's heart was pounding heavily in her chest as she was forcefully shoved into the evacuation line. Her fingers desperately sought out the skin on the back of her wrist, pinching it in an attempt to calm herself and keep grounded in this reality, rather than her slew of irrational obsessions. Hands... everyone's hands were everywhere; pushing her, shoving her aside and desperately trying to get out the castle before it caved in around them. The stench of dirt and fear came off of them in waves; assaulting her senses and making her feel sick. Katherine tried to ignore it; after all, the threat of imminent death seemed to pale in comparison to her fear of germs and general uncleanliness from her fellow peers. Still, it wasn't easy. Her breathing was beginning to shallow and the feeling of panic rising in her chest was due to much more than the army of Death Eaters waiting for them outside of the castle.

Professor McGonagall requested that the evacuation process be done 'in an orderly fashion,' but this chaos was anything but. Everyone was frightened, something that intensified once He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named bellowed orders to surrender the boy. His words echoed through the castle, reaching every corner and invading every shadow; a harsh reminder that there truly was nowhere to hide anymore. And yet they ran – all of them ran with the foolish hope that a head start might save them. It was a hope that Katherine herself held onto, despite her logical assessment of the situation and its pessimistic ending.

But despite every inch of her screaming to get out, to run as far away as possible and never look back, Katherine stayed rooted to the spot. As other students rushed past her in waves of desperation, her eyes searched the crowd for any sign of her older sister amongst them. Katarina was of age, but surely she wouldn't be foolish enough to stay behind and fight? This wasn't their fight, this wasn't their war. This had nothing to do with them at all and yet the longer she stood there, the heavier her stomach got with the horrifying realization that her sister would not be among the students evacuating.

Then hands gripped Katherine's arm and she screamed in horror, pushing the offending person off of her. Her hands frantically rubbed at her skin, trying to scrape the infected epidermis off of her body before contagion could spread through her bloodstream. "We need to go! Katherine!" cried the girl who nearly caused Katherine heart failure from just a mere touch. Katherine was sure it was another fourth year, possibly even one of her friends, but she could barely recognize the castle around her – let alone the people inside it – as she began to feel lightheaded.

This was too much; all of it was just too much for her to handle. She felt like she was going to cry; Katherine was already high-strung as it was, liable to have a panic attack if things weren't always just_so,_and this chaos was making her feel entirely too overwhelmed. There were too many people around her; too much fear radiating off of them, making the air thick and barely breathable. And Katherine needed to breathe, she needed to _think... _and so she broke away from the crowd and ran as fast as her legs would carry her.

Everyone seemed too involved in their own terror to notice her absence, or maybe no one felt the need to risk their own necks by going after her. Regardless of how she managed to get away, soon she found herself collapsed on the ground behind a stone gargoyle in the left wing. Her breathing was coming out wheezed; making her chest feel tighter and her lungs heavier. Katherine closed her eyes tightly and her fingernails dug into her skin, trying to focus on the pain rather than the onslaught of panic that seemed to be consuming her whole. She needed to get past it though; she knew she needed to get past it if she was ever going to find her sister. She wouldn't leave Hogwarts without her.

Katherine tried to block out everything and focus on the intake of her breath to steady it, but the noises around her were making her heart beat increase tenfold. She could feel it straining against her ribcage as it beat faster, heavier, and she prayed she wouldn't drop dead of a heart attack right there. All her life she had taken precautions to avoid stressful situations, as she knew she had a harder time than most handling them. But there were no precautions when it came to something of this magnitude. Nothing she could have done could have prepared her for something like this; this was life or death. This could very well be the end of all things.

Solitude seemed to help, as miniscule as that comfort was. After a while Katherine could no longer hear the frightening wheeze to her intake of breath and her heartbeat slowed to something much more manageable. The weight on her chest still seemed to crush her, but she fought through the feeling as she climbed to her feet, grasping the gargoyle's wing for balance. After taking a moment to steady herself, Katherine inhaled deeply and tried to find her courage.

Slipping from her place of hiding, Katherine tried to become invisible as she made her way up the stairs to the Ravenclaw tower. It seemed everyone was going to higher ground to have a better fighting advantage and it stood to reason that her sister would take to defending their tower, as it was home to them for nine months out of the year. She took the stairs two at a time, rushing past other students and a teacher, hoping they wouldn't take notice that a fourth year was still hanging around. Once she made it up the last step she didn't waste any time looking back to see if someone was coming after her, instead she made a beeline to the balcony.

Once her eyes landed on Katarina, a wave of relief passed over her and she finally felt like she could breathe again. Her hands gripped the threshold of the doorway and she desperately tried not to look down at the army below the castle as she called out her sister's name, hoping that somehow she'd be able to convince her to leave. This wasn't their cause to die for and Katherine would be damned if she allowed her sister to foolishly give up her life for something that clearly could not be saved.

_**( Popprincess889 )**_

To Katarina, Hogwarts had been a sanctuary. A place where one could escape from all the evils of the known world. Where else would they have chosen to hide the Sorcerer's Stone? Unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end. But why a place like Hogwarts had to come to such a terrible end was lost to her. After all, all the school had ever done was nurture some of the world's most talented and intelligent wizards and witches. While some of those wizards and witches had turned out to be exceedingly evil, a majority didn't.

And of course, among those who thrived to stay good, was Katarina. _She_ hadn't done anything terribly bad (so far). _She_hadn't wished for the downfall of witches and wizards everywhere. In fact, since the day of Dumbledore's death, she had been hoping and wishing everyday that nothing terribly bad would occur.

It was a shame that all that hoping and wishing had gone to waste. For now, as she stood alongside all of the other students ready to face the Death Eaters, she felt a deep welling of sadness in her heart that this all couldn't have ended peacefully. Countless lives would – and have - been lost during the war, and for what? One man's greed? That, she concluded, was no reason to die.

But maybe that was the difference between herself and her family members. All of them had been Gryffindor, brave and courageous, always willing to charge into battle – save for her younger sister Katherine, the only other Ravenclaw in her family. While the others were busy making war plans on how to destroy the Death Eaters, she was hanging back, wishing that somehow it could all end without shedding a single drop of blood.

But the time for hopeless fantasies is over. Here she was, about to enter the climax of her life story, and she couldn't stop shaking from fright. At seventeen, you'd think that she'd be slightly braver, but no. She just couldn't help it.

She glanced around, studying the other faces that she had gotten to know so well these past few years, all willing to rush into battle to defend the place where they had grown from incompetent, clueless wizards and witches to the confident, brave people who were willing to die for their school. She admired their courage and their determination, their drive and their willpower. She channeled her inner Gryffindor, forcing her spine to straighten and her chin to rise. As the students dispersed towards the Death Eaters, she followed, desperately searching about for a clueless student or a foe-less Death Eater.

"Stupefy!" She shrieked at a passing Death Eater, violently shaking from fright. She felt completely lost in a sea of people, her sense of direction melting away. Deciding that the probability of seeing more Death Eaters would probably be greater when she was higher up, she raced to Ravenclaw Tower as quickly as she could. Familiar faces surrounded her, their supportive glances and hopeful eyes giving Katarina the strength she needed to go on with her head held high.

Once she made it to the balcony, she breathed a quick sigh of relief, which quickly turned to horror. Bodies littered the ground beneath her, flashes of light bouncing back and forth between wizards and witches. She could hear screams, loud and agonizing, rising up from the grounds that, only a year ago, had been a place to relax and have fun.

In a brief moment of peace, she remembered a time, two years ago, when she had stood on this exact spot with her then-boyfriend. Remembering that time was like remembering her fourth birthday – the memories hazy and forgotten about, buried deep in the back of her mind. She couldn't quite figure out why that specific memory came to her now, when there were obviously much more important things to worry about, but she figured there must have been some reason for –

_"Katarina!"_

A familiar voice jarred her from her thoughts. She froze, terrified. No! She couldn't have come here; she _shouldn't_have come here. Squeezing her eyes up tight, she desperately wished that she was hallucinating, that she hadn't just heard that voice.

"Katherine!" She shrieked, shoving her sister to the floor as a spell struck the place she had been standing a moment before. What could she have been doing here? It was too dangerous for someone so young! She was supposed to be in the evacuation group! Why wasn't she in the evacuation group?

"I know you don't like to be touched – just..." She dragged her sister into the Common Room, the usually lively room now desolate and silent. "What are you doing here?"

_**( **__**Marluxia )**_

It was difficult to think in the midst of all the commotion, and Debra was starting to regret making the decision to follow the older students into the rest of the castle to duel. So many Death Eaters, countless masked faces kept coming in waves around the corners of the corridors and the pace of Debra's heart beat dangerously fast, so that her ears were pounding with all the blood being pumped vigorously throughout her body. Her initial adrenaline rush was wearing thin as she began to panic, something that was not made easier to handle when a flash of red light rushed just over her shoulder.

With a gasp, Debra twisted around and fired a stunning spell at the Death Eater that had shot and missed her by an inch, but the cloaked figure had already swept around another corner, out of reach, and suddenly Debra wasn't feeling particularly avid about chasing them down. She cursed under her breath, her wand hand shaking slightly as she began to doubt her dueling abilites and the reason why she was even there, in the halls and trying to defend the castle.

She was not a fighter - she was a bookish school girl who earned her excellent grades in any practical sect of education because the pressures of a classroom were nowhere near the same as the pressures of battling for one's life. And this, running through the halls, head jerking every which way in constant vigilance of one's surroundings, was not settling in Debra's realm of familiarity. She needed to get to a safer place, because she did not belong in the battle.

Debra ran like she never had before back to Ravenclaw Tower. Her lungs were stinging with every sharp breath of air hissed in and out, and it seemed silly that just earlier that day, she had been running this same route only with a lot less weight on her shoulders. She didn't feel safe, not even as she passed several floors and hallways that appeared completely empty. As she ran, she tried to think, to rationalize the situation the same way she would any class assignment, because that was something she was familiar with; finding solutions to problems, no matter how impossible they seemed.

It came to her clear as a bell, the sound of his voice in her mind. _Give me Harry Potter...Give me Harry Potter and none shall be harmed._

Why hadn't anyone tried to do just that? It was simpler than resisting, than sending hundreds of students with families and friends into Hogwarts to fight and die for one individual. Harry was of age as well, and as far as she was concerned he could fight his own battle; why "the boy who lived" was even hiding in the first place was shocking in itself. It didn't make sense to her for him to play his game of hide and seek while his peers attempted to defend him and encourage his concealment. No...this was not her battle to fight for him.

Her decision may have been made in cold blood, but once she'd decided upon it, Debra stuck with it. She would find Harry Potter and take him to Voldemort, deliver the one person that all the Death Eaters were desperate to find and capture, and put a stop to all the madness around them. But she couldn't do it alone, and Debra knew of only one other person she could turn to for assistance.

Katarina had stayed behind in Ravenclaw Tower to fight, and as she burst through the common room entrance, the usual riddle-delivering door having been blown off its hinges, found her best friend alongside her little sister, Katherine.

"Katarina! Katherine! I'm so glad to see you both here, in one piece!" Debra's words were rushed and choked on her heavy breathing, but she swallowed and stood straighter to deliver her request. "Katarina, we have to put an end to this, it is absolutely insane. Please, come with me. Together, we can find Harry Potter and we can hand him over to the Death Eaters, to Voldemort, and we will be able to leave to safety. I need your help, Katarina, I'm begging you. We don't stand a chance in this fight!"

_**( Sapphire Smoke )**_

The look on her sister's face cut deep to Katherine's core. A fleeting moment of guilt washed over her as she took notice of the sheer terror on Katarina's face; she should have known her sister wouldn't wish to see her amidst all this war and chaos. But she wouldn't have had to come at all if Katarina had just left like she was supposed to. Her sister was a Ravenclaw like herself; shouldn't she be looking at this logically? While the rest of their family were Gryffindors – even their own parents – that didn't mean that Katarina had to prove herself part of the Norwood line by staying and being "brave." Katherine saw no bravery in this situation, only foolishness and senseless death.

Though Katherine was at a point where she could breathe relatively normally again, that quickly ended once her sister pushed her to the ground. The concrete of the balcony scraped her elbow but she didn't even notice the pain as her brain caught up to the situation. She could have just _died. _Once again her breathing shallowed and her heart rate increased, making her sister's weight on top of her feel like a crushing boulder. "_Off!_" she screeched at her - the only word her brain could make sense of saying - as she tried to desperately push Katarina off of her. Her skin felt like it was crawling with new germs that were ready and waiting to infect her body and Katherine had to resist the urge to try to scrape them off with her fingernails. There were more important things in this moment to worry about; like the fact that she nearly got hit with a stray curse.

Peace of mind was not something Katherine was to have yet, however. Instead of avoiding more physical contact with her, Katarina grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet before practically dragging her into the Ravenclaw Common Room. She was apologizing, but Katherine barely heard her. Her ears were ringing with the sounds of destruction below, and coupled with her near-death experience and the fact that she had the insane urge to rip all of her skin from her body to just stay clean; mental clarity was not one of her strong suits at the moment.

"This is too much, this all too bloody much... everything... all of it..." Katherine mumbled to herself as she desperately tried to wipe the dirt from her skin in an attempt to calm her rapidly beating heart. She probably looked crazy; hell, she probably even _sounded _crazy, but she felt more overwhelmed than she ever had in her life. People were dying all around them and nothing anyone could do would stop it. She felt trapped, she felt lost; she felt like another number in the sea of the walking dead. Because that's what they were doing here, right? Just waiting to die. It wasn't a matter of 'if'; it was only a matter of 'when.'

They needed to leave. Now.

"We have to go," Katherine told her sister in a rush of breath. Desperation dripped from every syllable she spoke and she tried to ignore the feeling of germs and on setting disease so she could just, for one moment, focus on what's real; what's important. Katarina looked like she was about to argue, but Katherine wouldn't let her get a word out. "I am not going to stand here and watch you _die!_" she shrieked. "This isn't our war, Kat! If you stay you're going to get cut down just like everyone else foolish enough to fight for something that's already lost! This castle is going to fall; I know it, you know it, and what's worse everyone out there with some sort of twisted _death wish _knows it! I won't be left alone, do you hear me? So let's just forget about all this and go! _Please!_"

Katherine choked on her last words, emotion finally taking over as a few tears leak from her pleading eyes. She wished she could just take Katarina's shoulders and shake the stubbornness out of her, but the thought of touching another human being was as frightening to her as death. She hated being this way, more than anything else in the world. Everyone else could touch people, everyone else was _normal. _But even when it mattered, even when it was a matter of life and death, Katherine couldn't get past her own irrational fears to do what needed to be done. If she were normal, she would forcefully drag Katarina to safety. If she were normal, she would hold her sister as she cried for the death of her friends who stayed behind. But Katherine wasn't normal, she never would be, and the frustration of that made her choke back a sob and wish that Katarina would just listen to her for once because she had no way of making it happen on her own.

But before Katarina could answer, they were interrupted by a girl running into the common room. Katherine looked up and was surprised to see that it was Debra, Katarina's best friend. Debra was a smart girl; in fact, one of the smartest Katherine had ever met. She assumed Debra had taken her leave the moment He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's voice echoed through the castle, like any smart person would. But instead she was still here and Katherine hoped she only stayed behind so as to help talk some sense into her sister. But what came out of Debra's mouth was far from sense; it was absolutely maddening.

"Have you all gone _mental?_" Katherine shrieked, not believing what she just heard. Capture _Harry Potter? _Not only was the boy nowhere to be found, but it was no secret that he was a skilled duelist. It sounded like a suicide mission to her and more insane than the notion of saying behind and fighting a losing battle. "We need to _leave,_" Katherine stressed, "not stay behind and play hero; we aren't indestructible! God, did you all get a dose of _stupid _in your pumpkin juice this morning?"

_**( Popprincess889 )**_

Maybe it was the rush of being in a way that was making Katarina crazy. Or maybe it was the thought of finally being something more than a quiet bookworm. Either way, despite her sister having a point, she knew she wanted to stay. After seven years of studying magic and wizardry, she could finally have a chance to prove to herself – and her parents – that she wasn't just another Ravenclaw nerd.

_"Katarina! Katherine!"_

For the second time in about fifteen minutes, a sense of dread filled her heart. She probably should have been feeling relief, as her best friend Debra was safe. However, she had up until then believed that Debra had fled like everyone else. If she was here, then the possibility of her loved ones dying had just increased tenfold.

In this case though, Katarina thought Debra was going absolutely insane. She was acutely aware of Katherine saying something, but at the moment she could barely think. Why in the world would Debra even think of turning _Harry Potter _in? The boy had saved their lives countless times, putting his own life at risk to make sure that everyone else would be safe. And so what if that didn't work so well? She would bet anything that he was probably somewhere inside the castle, thinking of some ingenious plan to save them all.

"Forget leaving! I can't believe you would even consider turning Harry Potter in! After all he's done for us! We would _already_be dead if it wasn't for him. And what do you reckon You-Know-Who's going to do after he gets Potter? Disappear from the face of the Earth, letting us all go back to our normal lives? I highly doubt it. We'll be living under his reign. He'll murder anybody, for any reason. And we'll have caused it! Same with you!" She whipped around to face her sister. She could feel her temper rising, all of her mental clarity evaporating in a split second. She had been reigning her fear and her anger in for so long, but now she was done.

"Maybe you're right. You-Know-Who will probably win. But what then? He's not going to let us go back to our normal lives! I was just a baby when Potter defeated You-Know-Who. I don't know what happened before that. But I've heard stories; and so have you. Our lives would be torturous. I _know _I don't want to live like that! Do you?"

She didn't wait for her sister's answer. Her head was swimming with thoughts of leaving, staying, and all those in between. Combing a hair through her thick brown hair, she fell back onto a dusty couch.

Turning Potter in was even more cowardly then leaving. Maybe they wouldn't win, but at least they had _tried_. And maybe if they did win, they could be proud of all that they did. What if the students lost because of the absence of one more wizard? What if the school went down in flames because there wasn't one more student to defend it? What then?

_**( **__**Marluxia )**_

Debra had faith in her plan, perhaps foolishly so. Before the castle had fallen to chaos and destruction, it had simply been another night at Hogwarts, sleeping peacefully in her dorm. But this changed when the other girls had caused her to stir, lighting their wands and stomping across the floors and toward the stairs.

Following the others, Debra had been one of many Ravenclaw students to stand in terror and watch Luna Lovegood stand in the common room alone, the body of Alecto Carrow slumped onto the ground. There were gasps all around, and many hushed whispers.

_Is she dead? Did Luna kill her? What happened, what's going on? Why would Luna do such a thing?_

It was only when Amycus Carrow was thundering on the other side of the door, that Debra finally returned to her dorm, with an ever attentive ear searching for more voices, more sounds. It was a shock just as much as it had been to see Luna with her wand raised against a professor, to later hear what sounded like Professor McGonagall exclaim "Potter!"

In Debra's mind, if Harry Potter had been in Ravenclaw Tower earlier that night, it was likely he could not have gone very far considering after the fiasco, the instructions for battle and evacuation rapidly fell into place.

Between small glares directed at Katherine and Katarina, Debra felt temporarily lost for words. She was so certain that Katarina would stand by her side on this, but the option that she would be let down had never crossed her mind. It was a harsh blow to deal, a big pill to swallow, to think that she may have overestimated their friendship all these years, that perhaps, the level of devotion she felt for her friend was not shared.

"What Harry Potter has done for us? Kat, all he has done for us is lead the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who to our castle, to destroy it and to destroy us! Can you not see that? Once You-Know-Who has Potter, he will deal with him in his own way, but it should not be up to us to sacrifice ourselves for someone who just wants to run and hide until time is up. Maybe Harry will stop him before it can happen the other way around, who knows? But all I know is it's too late to evacuate, all main exits are swarmed with duels, we won't make it out alive at all!"

Debra's hands were balled into fists at her sides and she looked at her friend imploringly. "I came to you because I thought you would stick by me, because you are my friend. Kat, please..."

_**( Popprincess889 )**_

Katarina stared at her friend in disbelief. It was as if all those years of friendship had suddenly disappeared – along with her friend's sanity. She had expected that Debra would feel the same amount of dedication towards Hogwarts, that same desire to stay and fight and defend the place where they had grown to be such good friends. Hogwarts was her home. And she wasn't just going to stand there and watch as it crumbled to pieces.

"All Harry's done? Were you not there at the Triwizard Tournament? Did you not hear about their excursion to the Ministry of Magic? He's been trying, all these years, to prevent this from happening. I can't believe you'd even think about turning him in. And how do you know if he's hiding? Maybe he's trying to save us _right now_. I'm not saying we should escape – I know we can't. But I'd rather die here then live under You-Know-Who's reign forever." She whirled around, towards the doorway. "We grew up here, Debra. Remember, as first years, when we barely knew each other? Now look at where we are. You're like a sister to me. If it wasn't for Hogwarts, we wouldn't be this close. We might not even know each other. Maybe you're willing to stand aside and let this school fall, but I'm not. I don't care what anybody says." And with that, she stormed off.

Running her hand along the smooth, stone wall, she reminisced in all the good memories that had been shared between her and Debra. They had laughed together, played together, and cried together. And through it all, they had stayed the best of friends. But now – now things were different. Maybe it was the thought of losing her home away from home that scared her, but somehow during that argument with Debra she hadn't been able to remember any of the fun times they had had. They had simply drifted away. Unfortunately for her, that drifting had made all the difference.

Maybe she should have apologized.

Turning around, she raced back to the Common Room. It was empty. Both Debra and Katherine had disappeared – probably to escape. Her thoughts carried her towards the Girls Dormitory, where she had fond memories of staying up late at night and talking with the other girls. A lone tear fell down her cheek, tracing its way down to her chin and dripping onto the shiny marble floor. She remembered, only a couple hours ago, awaking to the sound of shouting coming from the Common Room. Luna Lovegood had been found next to the unconscious body of Alecto Carrow. That was the moment when everything changed.

She heard footsteps behind her. Whipping around, she came face to face with an incredibly sharp-looking wand, its user hidden under a dark cloak. Surreptitiously, her left hand crept under her robes, searching desperately for her own wand.

"Expelliarmus." The Death Eater hissed - now proving to be a man - sending the wand flying out of Katarina's hand. She cursed under her breath. _One. Two. Three._In a flash of motion, she dove after her wand, hand extended as far as it could. She grabbed it and fired a stunning spell at the Death Eater. He ducked, the spell bouncing off the wall behind him and hitting a chair.

"Confringo! Impedimenta! Incendio! Petrificus Totalus!" She fired spells left and right, trying, one last time, to somehow subdue the Death Eater. Whether it was by a nonverbal spell of his own, or some other foreign reason, every single spell seemed to miss. Deciding that her chances of hitting would be greater standing up, she quickly scrambled to her feet. The moment her feet hit solid ground though, the Death Eater cast a spell of his own.

"Sectumsempra." Pain exploded from her chest, her body feeling as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of her. She collapsed into a fit of coughs, the taste of blood filling her mouth. She watched in agony as the Death Eater coldly swept out of the room, trying to call out to him but ultimately failing.

She had heard of that spell only once before – and only that it was a specialty of Severus Snape's. He must have taught the other Death Eaters – that dirty little traitor! After all Dumbledore had done for him! If she had had any energy left, she would have raced down to find him as quickly as she could, ignoring the throbbing pain in her chest.

Earlier, due to the Gryffindor blood that flowed through her veins, and the Gryffindor body that she knew so well laying on the cold, blood-stained floor, she had realized that, no matter what, she would die for this school. It was funny how things seemed to just play themselves out, even if the person had gone to great lengths to avoid their fate. Katarina herself had not, but all of her loved ones had. She finally understood why they had tried so hard to get her to leave before it was too late. Oh, she was just as foolish as the rest of her family. All willing to die for a noble cause.

But here she was, halfway between life and death, and the only emotion she felt was regret. Regret that she hadn't been able to make amends with Debra. Regret that she was leaving her sister all alone. Maybe she would be a hero to them. Maybe even to everyone. Maybe she would be remembered as someone who had tried so hard to hold back the Death Eaters, to stop their oncoming attack. Or maybe she would be just another casualty among the many that were lost that night, to be remembered only by her family and friends. But Katherine and Debra would keep her memory alive – she was sure of it. They were the two constants in her life, the two she knew she could always count on, even in a situation like this one. She felt no sadness towards herself, no tribulation that her life had to end this quickly. Only for them.

And with that last thought, her vision blurred and faded to black.

_**( **__**Marluxia )**_

It was a game of cat and mouse like she had never played before, the way Debra had pooled all the stealth in her body to evade any of the Death Eaters after her fight with Katarina. Of course she was the mouse, and she wished she really could be that small so she could hide more efficiently. Every footfall seemed to echo and send shivers down her spine, forcing her to whip around in panic and expect to see a cloaked figure pointing a wand directly at her.

After Katarina had walked out on her, Katherine disappeared on her own, and Debra had stayed in stunned silence in the quiet, dark common room, feeling alone and vulnerable. Perhaps if she had reacted sooner, she could have found Katarina to apologize. The way her friend, her closest friend who had been there since the beginning of their adventure in magical education, had looked at her...it was something Debra would never forget, not until she found her and apologized.

But in running out into the fifth floor corridors, Katarina was nowhere to be found, and it was with a heaviness in her heart that Debra pushed it all aside in hopes she would find Katarina after the nightmare was over and be able to make amends then. And so it began; hiding behind tapestries, behind suits of armor and stone gargoyles, staying as far away from sounds of spell casting and walls crumbling as she could manage.

It was the coward's way out, indeed, but more than anything Debra wanted to live to see another day, live to see her mother and father again, and if that meant staying in one place, hiding and evading any confrontation, then she would do it. Dueling was not in her blood and neither were any brilliant flares of bravery and courage.

_You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery._

The voice seemed to wash away every other sound; suddenly there were no more screams, no more spells firing. It was the most uneasy silence Debra had ever heard.

_Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured._

The absence of Lord Voldemort's voice left a pressure of deafness on Debra's ears. She was shaking with both gratitude and still, ever present terror. He was calling off attacks for an hour, one glorious hour. She had to find Katarina now.

She didn't run this time. Every limb of her body was tired and the exhaustion sunk deep into her bones. She wrung her hands as she walked back to Ravenclaw Tower, where she hoped that Katarina had returned to continue fighting. At the foot of the stairs, however, Debra found a trail of blood that made her stop in her tracks. There was no particular reason why she should feel compelled to follow the trail, but she did, and once again she was running, the more blood she saw trailing along the ground the more her own blood turned to ice.

It led her to the Great Hall, where there were bodies everywhere, some lifeless and some heaving the most labored breaths. The body she was looking for was closest to the door.

The pain in Debra's knees as her legs gave out and hit the floor was dull in comparison to the tumultuous wave of sorrow and regret that was threatening to suffocate her as she stared at Katarina's blank eyes and the gashes in her chest. Debra was vaguely aware of the comforting hand on her shoulder, and did not shake it away.

"Katarina..." she sobbed, her tears falling fast and free, "I-I'm sorry...I'm so sorry."

* * *

><p><em><strong>OUR TEAM WON THIS ROUND FOR THE BEST OVER-ALL RP :D<strong>_


	3. Round 2: Different Cultures

**The Task:**

For this challenge, you will be writing a fictional short story, no more than 1,000 words where the subject of your story is from a culture other than your own. Now culture is a very broad category, so while the most obvious take is to write a story about a different part of the world, culture includes many more aspects of living such as religion, status, and just ways of life.

**Rules:**

1. You one week to submit your story.  
>2. To reiterate, 1,000 words or less.<br>3. If you are talking about cultural things, you are expected to be accurate. Yes, this may mean that you have to do some research. This comes in to play especially when choosing things like names and town locations.

* * *

><p><em>This is wrong.<em>

Screams pierced Talos' ears; the sounds of death and fear washed through the village as the flames from their arrows – from _his_ arrows – consumed the houses and burned them to the ground. Children cried out in fear for their mothers, but their mothers cried out in agony as the soldiers from his legion ripped away their virtue, taking them as their spoils of battle. The men… most of them were long dead, just humble farmers and blacksmiths who tried to defend their homes. This place; it wasn't a threat. Yet because they were ruled under the Persian flag, because they were a village the enemy soldiers would use for supplies, their fate was sealed. They were destined to die.

Or so that's what Talos was told.

All of his life, Talos wanted to be a soldier; to march beneath the banner of Alexander the Great and help expand the borders of Greece. He had pride in his country and in his ruler's cause and so when he was of age he found himself, sword in hand, marching through Persia to help fight a war that had been waged for nearly a decade. The Persian King, an incompetent man by the name of Darius III, was by far the biggest threat to Alexander's campaign for peace and unity under the Greek flag. Darius' empire was unstable; his satraps were unreliable, his subjects were violent and rebellious. Persia was falling apart and stood to take the surrounding colonies with them if they weren't stopped. Talos understood that; he wouldn't be here if he didn't.

What he didn't understand, however, was why so many innocent people had to die; why women had to be tortured, children had to be orphaned. This village was a convenient spot for the Persian soldiers, yes; it was far north enough that it lay right on the border of the Ottoman Empire, which would inevitably lead them to Greece after a six day's march. But why not let these simple people go and_ then_ burn it to the ground? They were not soldiers; they posed no threat to their regime.

"Talos!"

Talos turned to see his brother in arms, Andres, drag a woman by her tattered clothing and throw her at his feet. "Take your spoils, brother; you have yet to indulge yourself the pleasure. This one is prime." He laughed, grasping her hair and forcing her to look up at him so she could be inspected. Her eyes, wide with fear, burned into Talos' and it made the boy sick to his stomach; she looked so much like his mother. She was trembling, blood already staining the bottom of her dress from the abuse to her virtue and Talos knew that he had to do something.

"Gratitude," Talos responded curtly, playing his role as he grasped the woman's forearm forcefully, bringing her to her feet. She screamed, feebly trying to fight her way out of his grasp but he held her firmly, barking, "Shut your mouth, Persian scum!" He turned, dragging her kicking and screaming into an area of solitude where Andres could only assume he would do his business. But once they were away from prying eyes, Talos knelt down and loosened his grip.

"Do you have children?" he asked.

Ash rained down on them from the burning houses, the heat scorching though they stood in snowfall. She looked up at him, every inch of her shaking and beaten and she nodded, tears brimming her emerald eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you," Talos told her, his own voice quivering from the fear of his disobedience and the consequences it would render.

"To the west lies the Ottoman Empire, merely two day's walk from here. You know this?" he enquired. The woman nodded, though the mistrust was clear in her eyes. "Take shelter under their flag, bring your children. Do you know where they are?" She nodded a second time. "Can you get to them?"

"Why are you helping me?" she asked finally, her voice broken and raw. Her hands clutched at her dress, pulling it down frantically to cover what's been compromised.

"Because I serve Ares, not Hades. Death is inevitable in a war, but this is no battle. There is no glory or honor in what has been done here," Talos told her honestly, holding out his hand to help her to her feet. She looked at it warily for a moment before she took it, fingers trembling as they wrapped around his own. Once she was steady on her feet he told her, "Go, find your children and run. Persia will fall; there is no home for you here anymore."

"The soldiers—" she started, fearing she would not get past them unseen.

"Will be moving out shortly," he finished for her. "This village has been burned, the supplies taken. We will not purge it of every living thing; we are Greeks, not Barbarians. Your children will be safe, your woman who survive being taken broken but alive. Hide until day break; come first light we move onwards towards Persepolis."

"Thank you," she said, grasping his forearm in a show of gratitude. Her eyes were wide and fearful, yet a glimmer of hope now shown beneath their broken exterior. He nodded, knowing he was doing the right thing. There was, of course, the possibility that come daybreak she would still be alive without out his help, but only the strong survive being passed from soldier to soldier and this woman already looked as though she was hanging by a thread.

"Go," he encouraged her, his words strong and meaningful. She nodded and ran; her bare feet red and angry from the snow's harsh bite. Talos took a breath and looked towards the east, knowing the King of Persia was out there, somewhere, waiting to be stripped from his throne and for peace to finally fall over this land.

Talos could only hope that all of this would be worth it.


	4. Round 3: First Kiss

**The Task:**

For this challenge, you will be writing the first kiss between two people. The word limit for this round is 2000 words. The kiss must occur between **two** people. People doesn't have to mean "human beings" technically. Your characters may be supernatural or fantastical somehow. But, no dogs slobbering on each other, 'kay? In addition, your pairing is not restricted by gender identity or sexual orientation. They must be _original_ characters. No fan fiction, please.

**Rules:**

1. You one week to submit your story.  
>2. To reiterate, 2,000 words or less.<br>3. _Two_ characters. _First_ kiss. They can kiss more after that, if you'd like. Keep it _PG-13_.  
>4. The kiss should be <em>romantic<em> in nature. Not to say it has to be sweet. They don't even have to know each other. But this is NOT a kiss between a mother and her newborn baby or anything.

* * *

><p>Eve knew in her heart that this was wrong. She knew she was taking advantage of her sister's vulnerable state; she knew that desire like this should never be acted on. But it ate her, this feeling, every single day of her life. Her fingers reached out to touch Rose's hair, to slide through her long red curls and grasp at a shred of hope, a desperate attempt to keep her still; with her, in this moment. She wanted her to feel, she wanted her to <em>know.<em>

It wouldn't last, that much she knew. Rose would come to her senses soon and push her off, looking at her in a way that would shred Eve's soul apart. But for now, for this brief moment, Eve finally was able to act on what had nearly driven her to madness in years past.

Rose's lips were soft, much softer than what Eve expected from an addict. Her tongue was warm and it made Eve's body burn hot with desire as she kissed her harder, desperately wishing this wouldn't all turn to shit in a matter of minutes. She had always been the pretty one, her sister. Identical down to the last mole and yet Eve found her to be so much more beautiful than she. Even when Rose's life was in shambles and tears fell from her eyes, she was the most perfect piece of art that Eve ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. Rose was her heart; she owned her soul, and though Eve knew it was wrong, part of her didn't care.

This was her secret that she harbored since childhood. Everyone thought Eve to be the good twin; she was the one who graduated college, who got married, and had two beautiful children. She did everything right in life while Rose flunked her first semester, turning to the streets to find a way to feed an addiction that had nearly consumed her whole. She was getting better, but her life would never be perfect in the way her sister's was. Rose had an apartment now, a step up from years past; an apartment they were in at this very moment. She had called an hour ago crying, needing Eve to come pick up the pieces of her life again. It was expected, it was routine. This however, broke the pattern they had so easily fallen in step with over the years.

Eve's heart was beating erratically in her chest, a combination of excitement in fear as she felt her sister reciprocate slightly. She could feel Rose's breath on her lips, its heaviness weighing the reality of the situation. But then it was gone, her sister pulling back to look at Eve with fear and confusion behind her obsidian eyes. "What…?" she asked, her voice nothing more than a perplexed whisper. She was trying to understand but seemed far from it.

"I was… trying to comfort you," Eve tried, knowing how terribly frightened she sounded. A wave of regret passed through her; she knew she shouldn't have done that. It was one thing keeping it in the dark, in the back of her mind all these years. It was a private fantasy that she should have never given into. But seeing Rose sitting there in front of her, tears pouring from her eyes as she told her she relapsed again, was too much. She gave into weakness and it may have just cost her everything.

"You…" Rose started, sounding more confused than she ever had been in her life, "you're my _sister."_ She was looking at Eve in a way that made her stomach drop to the floor.

"I know. I'm sorry…"

"You're _sorry?"_ Rose asked, letting out a small laugh of disbelief. "My life is _shit,_ Eve. And you… you just come in here and make it more _screwed up?_ Why would you do that? Is this some kind of sick _game _for you?" Rose pulled her hand away from hers, the last physical connection they still had. It made tears begin to well up in Eve's eyes though she fought to suppress them.

"No! I swear I wasn't trying to hurt you in any way. I was just… I… I don't know what I thought," Eve replied, voice hitched in her throat from emotion. "I'm so sorry…" She knew she sounded desperate but she was far from caring; she didn't want to lose the only person she had ever truly loved. Her husband, he was a good man, but he wasn't… God, he wasn't _Rose._

But Rose moved away from her on the couch, pulling her legs tightly to her chest. Her fingers ran through her hair, eyes staring at the far wall as she tried to comprehend what just happened between them. Eve didn't move, though probably because she found she was too scared to. She just looked at her; watching her sister fall apart again in front of her eyes. Rose shook her head as her fingers curled in her hair almost violently as another tear fell down her cheek.

"No, Rose. God, please don't cry…" Eve tried, moving closer and reaching out in an attempt to comfort her. Rose held out her hand though, warding her away.

"Don't touch me right now," she requested, voice shaken and distraught. Eve felt her bottom lip tremble but she did as she was asked, putting her hand down to lie lifelessly on her lap. It broke her heart to see her sister in this much distress.

"I swear, I _promise _I wasn't trying to upset you," Eve told her, voice shaking from fear. She wanted to run as far away as she could and pretend this never happened, but she knew it wasn't an option. So Eve swallowed hard, needing to try to rectify this situation as best as she could. "I…" she sighed softly, deciding to go a different route, "you don't understand how much it kills me inside to see you unhappy. And you know, you _know _that I've tried _so _hard to fix everything for you. But they're just surface things and I hate more than anything that I can't be the one to fix how you feel inside. I wish I could rid you of your addiction, of your low self-worth. I wish I could give you the part of me I took when we were born to make you whole again, but I don't know how."

That made Rose look at her finally, but she still didn't move.

"I love you more than anyone in my life. You're not just my sister, you're not just my twin; you're my other half. We were literally split in two and so when you hurt, I hurt. When you cry I can feel it from miles away and… and when you laugh, I feel happy," Eve gave her a sad smile, remembering how long it had been since she last felt her sister happy. "_Everything,_ Rose; all of it… I can feel. And when you're like this, it tears me to shreds and makes me want to die because I feel so completely _useless_ that I can't just make you smile again."

Rose swallowed, looking down at the space between them for a moment before her eyes caught hers again. "It's not your job to fix my life, Eve," she told her softly.

"Isn't it?" Eve countered, moving a little closer to try and make her understand. She took her sister's hand in hers, half expecting it to be yanked from her grasp again. But Rose only curled her fingers around her palm, her last tear falling from her eyes as she sniffed. "In the end, we're all each other has," Eve told her seriously. "We came into this world together and we're going to go out together; everybody else in our lives are just passing through. If you aren't happy, then I'm not happy."

Rose pursed her lips as she laid her head on the back of the couch, looking at Eve like she didn't know how to feel. But Eve could tell she was getting through to her and as her hope grew, she pushed a little harder. "I'm sorry that you got upset when I kissed you," she told her softly. "But I've spent most of my life believing you're my soul mate. And it… it _ate_ at me, Rose; the urges I was having. And I know you probably think I'm sick or that I should be committed, but in that moment I just thought… God, I swear it just felt _right."_ She looked at her sister with every ounce of emotion she had in her, every syllable she spoke dripping in sincerity, "I've tried to give you everything I have; support, love, money… but I never tried to give you that. Maybe I was just being stupid, but I hoped that when all else failed that maybe _that_ would make a difference, somehow."

Rose's eyes were softening so Eve took a chance and reached up, brushing a piece of ginger hair away from her eyes before cupping her cheek in her hand. Rose bit her bottom lip softly at the light touch before she admitted in a broken whisper, "It just scared me…"

"I know, I'm sorry—"

"Not because of you," Rose interrupted quietly. "Because of me. Sometimes I don't think I know how to feel good anymore…" Eve looked confused and Rose took a shaky inhale, sitting up a little to get closer to her sister before she explained, "All of my life I felt like I was missing something. And I thought… I thought it was because I looked at your life; with your degree and your big house, your husband and your kids. I thought that's what I was supposed to have to feel… I don't know, _whole._ But then you kissed me and I…" her bottom lip trembled slightly and she had a hitch in her voice as she told her weakly, "I felt like that's what I… _needed."_

Eve tightened the grip on her sister's hand, trying to give her both comfort and encouragement. She didn't say anything; she knew Rose wasn't finished.

"And I know how screwed up it is, I know that I should feel dirty but I just… damnit." She sighed heavily, running a shaking hand through her hair. "I don't know, Evie…" she admitted softly, her voice sounding weighed down from the emotion it carried. "I'm not even _gay…"_

"I'm not either," Eve told her, her thumb tracing her sister's jaw line. "Does it matter?" she asked in a whisper.

"Shouldn't it?"

Eve shook her head. "I'm under the belief that twins transcend sexuality. It's what I've told myself to keep sane, anyway." She smiled at her softly and Rose let out a short, nervous laugh.

"You know you sound ridiculous, right?"

"Maybe. But think about it; we were once the same person. Even for a short while, we were completely and utterly _together._ And then our egg split and we became two separate people. But I think… I don't know, that maybe _this_ is the only way we can really be connected again. Does that make sense?"

Eve feared Rose would call her insane, would say that what she's saying doesn't make any sense, but instead she just nodded slightly. "I love you. You know that, right?" Eve told her quietly, fingers gently caressing her cheek. "And no matter what, we're always going to be together."

"I know," Rose whispered, finally allowing herself to smile at her. She placed her hand atop Eve's that lay on her cheek, curling her fingers around hers possessively.

It wasn't a lot, but it was enough. It had seemed like forever since Eve had seen her sister smile and even if they never did take their relationship to the next level, she knew that in itself was worth it. It had to be.


	5. Round 4: Changing History

**The Task:**

For this task, you will be changing a significant event in history...or, creating an _alternate_ history. That is the only condition. It can be from any point of view that you like, any tense that you like. It could be narrative, a story, diary, whatever you feel like putting together. Be sure to stick TRUE to history, however...excluding the thing you changed.

**Rules:**

1. You have one week to submit your story.  
>2. For word-counts: more than 1,000 words, NO more than 5,000 words.<br>3. Significant historical event. That means _big _things, not the delayed invention of peanut butter. The whole of history is available to you; choose wisely.

* * *

><p><strong>November 22, 1963 - 12:31pm<strong>

The scream emitted from the crowd was deafening. From his perch inside the southeast corner window of the Book Depository, six stories up, Oswald could see people scatter like frightened ants; looking for shelter from the shower of bullets he sent down upon them. Hundreds of eyes searched the street in feeble desperation, trying to find the source of the fear among them though it looked down upon them as if it were their God and Master. Oswald's heart pounded in his ears and a lone bead of sweat ran down his temple – a single reminder of what this meant for him – as he squeezed the trigger for the third time; praying that his vision, though clouded with emotion, would still bring him justice.

This was his time, _his _moment of complete freedom from the bindings that had kept him silent and unmoving for so many years. John had taken that right away from him so many years ago; had stood to make him into another one of his lapdogs and it wasn't right, how he assumed everyone was his lesser. Oswald gave him nothing but love; complete and utter devotion and yet the man spat on it like it was nothing, like _he_ was nothing. John kept him hidden away like some kind of dark, shameful secret and it had screwed with his sense of self, his sense of pride, and now his sense of morality.

Oswald watched the bullet embed itself in the back of the Governor and he swore, panic flowing through his veins like fire racing under his skin. The feeling threatened to consume him as his grip tightened on the rifle, firing another desperate shot. But before the bullet left the barrel he could see the President choking on his own blood; the last bullet had went clean through the Governor and hit him in the neck. But it wasn't enough, he was still moving, and so Oswald continued to fire in a wave of desperation, needing this to be over. Though he was trained as a Marine, trained to be calm under moments of great pressure, there was nothing calm about how he was feeling now. His emotions had completely taken over and in all honesty it was making him sloppy.

It should have only taken one shot, but all the fear, pain, and loathing crept up his throat like bile and it prevented him from being able to push it all down and fire with a clear head. It should have only taken one, yet Oswald had already lost count of how many it had been. Perhaps it didn't matter. Oswald's breathing became shallower and his heart rate tripled as his eyes bore witness to John's stillness; his last breath leaving his lips as his eyes stared blankly before him. People were screaming, crying, fear pouring off of them in waves as they clung to the desperate hope that this was all a dream.

It should have made him feel better, but it didn't. It should have made him feel free, yet he couldn't remember ever feeling so trapped in all his life. John was dead; a finality to another chapter in Oswald's life and yet it didn't feel like an ending, only a new beginning to different chapter filled with more pain, heartache, and fear. Panic was overtaking him as he hastily disassembled the rifle, knowing he needed to run. His fingers were sticky from nerves and they slipped against the hand guard, shifting it sideways to detach it from the barrel. He knew in the end he wouldn't get far, but perhaps it was a basic human instinct to run when confronted with an army of this magnitude. The entire country would be looking for him; of that he had no doubt in his mind.

As he detached the piston from the gas tube, shaky fingers compressing the pusher spring till it protruded beyond the passage of the sight bar, he briefly remember when he used to be happy; before all the lies, before all of betrayal, and before John's election that had ruined everything. He could remember it so vividly in his mind; the way he used to look at him, the way he used to touch him. There was adoration and love in that, once.

Though if it ever really mattered, if it ever really meant anything in the end, Oswald would never be sure.

**October 27, 1956 – 8:19pm**

Their teeth crashed together as the passion behind their kiss increased substantially with the weight of their bodies against one another. John's hands were strong as they dug into his hips, keeping him in place with silent, yet forceful domination. He was twice his age and it showed when they were in bed together; John was driven and precise whereas Oswald was clumsy and eager. Though John was the first man Oswald had ever been with in a romantic sense, he felt neither shame nor guilt for his actions. Sometimes he thought John didn't also, but then the harsh reminder that the Senator was married invaded his thoughts and made his heart weight heavy in his chest.

Such were the times though. Appearances were kept up for the sake of face so it wasn't like Oswald failed to understand John's reasoning behind his choice. A façade was just that; a façade. It held no bearing on who he truly was as a person and it didn't stifle his urges by any means. He still came to him every other week, content on living his truth behind closed doors. As young as Oswald was at the time, it probably made him naïve to the real truth behind all of this; though perhaps he just ignored it for the sake of one moment of fleeting happiness.

Regardless, John's tongue was soft, his skin hot to the touch, and Oswald found he didn't care in that moment how it would all end because his brain felt intoxicated by the love and lust he felt for the man on top of him.

They broke for a mere moment, John's hand cupping his cheek as he uttered the first words spoken since they found themselves in this hotel room. "Did you enlist?" he asked, voice breathless as he looked down at him, chocolate brown eyes searching for the answer he was hoping for. They had spoken of this the last time they were together and Oswald merely nodded in response, smiling as he saw the happiness light up his lover's face. "That's good," he told him. "This will be good for you, Lee. I promise."

_Lee._ No one ever called him by his first name outside of John; all his life he had been addressed by his surname, something which never seemed to mean much of anything until he heard John speak his given name in a breathy whisper for the first time. It made it special, in a way; that he was the only one privileged to call him that. It made what they had untouchable, in a sense.

"I know," Oswald replied, his hand covering the warm palm that lay on his cheek. While joining the Marines was never something he had aspired to do, it was something that was important to John. He wanted him to have a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging to something greater than himself. John was in the service until the mid-1940s and he spoke of his time in both the Army and the Navy with such pride that it inspired Oswald to follow in his footsteps. He was his hero, in every sense of the word. Not because of what he had done, but because of who he was.

"I'm proud of you," John told him, making Oswald's heart expand while his chest constricted, taking his breath away for a moment. They were words he never heard from anyone in his life, not even by his own father. They meant more to him than the air he breathed and as he grinned, a sense of boyish joy shining in his eyes, he leaned up, kissing him again with all the meaning and purpose he had in his heart.

**November 22, 1963 - 1:03pm**

Oswald could see that Earlene knew something was wrong, but she didn't question him as he strode into his house, breezing past her to confine himself in his room. She was his housekeeper, nothing more, and though they had been together for years she knew it was not her place to question his private life. Perhaps that was why her presence didn't worry him as he gathered up a change of clothing. While he doubted anyone had seen him in the window, he couldn't be too careful. Clothing descriptions were the most easily given to police and so he made quick work of changing them.

Though he was frightened of the aftermath, Oswald did not regret what he had done. It gave him no pleasure, no sense of peace, but it did give him the ending he needed, and that was good enough. John had destroyed his heart; it was only fair that he would be the one to destroy his. Though his method was more literal than John's, every day it felt as if a bullet was lodged in Oswald's chest, blocking him from feeling anything else besides the pain. To live with agony like that was crippling; it felt as though he was forced to stand still during the walk of life, unable to move forwards to change, grow, and learn. There's a saying that states 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger', but Oswald found that what didn't kill him physically, only stood to murder him emotionally. Though he wasn't dead, he felt as good as most days. Today was no exception.

He left the house as briskly as he came, knowing he needed to go somewhere but unable to think of a destination in his mind. It probably didn't matter; he found himself at the nearest bus stop moments later and figured he would go as far away as he could, for as long as he could.

Oswald wished more than anything that this didn't have to happen, but it wasn't like it was his decision. It wasn't his decision to get his beating heart ripped from his chest and stepped on by the only person he had ever loved. It wasn't his _damn_ decision to find his other half, only to have it matter for nothing. And it certainly wasn't his decision to have the only happiness he ever had in his life be stolen from him by six simple words.

**March 13, 1960 – 10:14pm**

"We can't do this anymore, Lee."

When John stepped into the hotel room, those were the last words Oswald ever thought would fall from his lips. He knew about his presidential election of course, but if he could sleep with him while a Senator, Oswald couldn't fathom why this was any different. They had always lived their life together in secret, away from the prying eyes and ears of the public. Maybe it was foolish, but he thought that everything would stay the way it was, regardless of what path John chose to walk in life.

The look on his lover's face however made Oswald's stomach drop to the floor; his heart feeling like it was breaking in half. He knew that look; John was serious. This wasn't another 'we shouldn't be doing this', as the older man had frequently mentioned during their many times time together. This was… this was the end.

"_Why?"_

Oswald's voice broke as he asked the question, a desperate attempt not to cry as he clenched his jaw immediately after the word passed through his lips. This moment; here, now, was destroying him, he could feel it. He could see the regret in John's eyes but it made no difference; it wouldn't change his decision, after all. He wanted to run to him, to take him in his arms and persuade him not to do this, but his pride as a man kept him rooted to the spot. He would not be reduced to the likes of a groveling woman.

"You know why," John answered, his voice showing him no emotion though his eyes screamed for forgiveness. "I'm sorry."

Oswald would have liked to believe that, but he couldn't. How he so easily threw away the last four years like it meant nothing, hardened his heart from ever truly understanding John's regret. Regret meant nothing, for there was still a betrayed under the surface of it all. Forgiveness was weak, as it proved he could be stepped on like something of insignificance. He was no longer a boy, he was a man now, and he would accept the fate of their relationship like one. He would act as he should, he would stand tall and proud, because both of them knew more than anyone the importance of the façade.

"Get out," he told him shortly. For the distress he felt, Oswald's voice was oddly calm, yet unwaveringly stern. There was no question, nor hesitation in his answer. He needed him gone from his presence so he could break down in the privacy of solitude. He thought for a moment that John might see through his mask of indifference and bear witness how much it was destroying him, but even if he did it didn't make any difference. The man he loved walked from the room, never to be seen again by him until their last, final moment of confrontation.

**November 22, 1963 - 2:10pm**

He thought he would have gotten farther than this.

As Oswald was drug forcefully out of the theatre, hands cuffed behind his back as he was led out by police officers, he was blinded by the flashes of cameras. He knew he shouldn't have shot that policeman almost an hour previously, but the man had known. Oswald could see in his eyes that he knew he was the one that had killed John. His questions were frivolous; though it was obvious he was trying to stall him. Four rounds fired from the handgun Oswald kept on him… and then he was gone; eradiated from the human race, unable to speak a word against him.

It should have made him feel safer, but it only proved to heighten Oswald's fear. He ran as far as he could until he couldn't run any longer, stealing into a nearby theatre without paying. He should have paid. So many mistakes, so many wrong turns; each one leading him to this one moment, the moment where his freedom was _truly_ taken away from him.

The cuffs chafed his wrists as he tried to struggle out of them, though he knew the effort was futile. The crowd that had gathered around them was loud, angry, and hateful. Their opinions mattered nothing to Oswald though; they could never understand why he did this. They, who find their President to be the light that shines the darkness, could never understand that the man they loved was the only one to blame for this act of evil. Three years Oswald lived with the sadness, with the betrayal, and with the pain. Three years it ate at him, consuming him whole and spitting him back out again. Three years it had been, until he could take it no longer.

A reporter was screaming at him now as he was led to the patrol car, trying to be heard over all the rest. A man, maybe two years shy of his own age, pushed through the crowd trying to get some answers. His determination reminded Oswald of John and it made him ill. "Did you kill the President?" he shouted, needing to hear the words come from his mouth.

But Oswald would not give him the satisfaction. "No," he stated simply before his head was pushed down, forcing him to sit in the back of the vehicle. The crowd erupted in anger, in doubt, and in fear as the door closed behind him, making their shouts become dull roars in the back of his mind.

Yes, he had killed the President of the United States, and yes; he had every reason in the world as to why. Hell hath no fury like a scorned lover after all, but the penance for that would be between him and God. Until the day he met his maker, he would not confess his crime. He would not give them the satisfaction of an answer; he would not give them peace of mind.

Because in the end, Oswald never did gain peace of mind. And if he couldn't have it, he felt no need to give it to the rest of the world.


	6. Round 5: Point of View

**The Task:**  
>For this task, you are going to write two 500 word max pieces which represent the same scene but which each take on the perspective of a different character. Like, Katie and Ellen fight over a boy. First write it from Katie's 1st person POV, then again from Ellen's.<p>

**Rules:**  
>1. You have one week to submit your story.<br>2. To reiterate, 500 words or less per piece.  
>3. Make sure that each piece is set at the same time. It's supposed to be the exact same scene.<p>

* * *

><p>The analog clock on the wall is maddening. The ticking noise drones on, like a small man pounding on the inside of my head with a jackhammer. I know it's them. I want to tear it off the wall and throw it on the ground. I want to stomp on it; crush it into tiny little pieces so it never makes another sound again. Nothing that repetitive and irritating should ever exist in this world; it's just torture for those of us able to hear the underlying demonic presence behind such a simple noise.<p>

They're listening.

My hand grips the edge of the chair, fingernails digging in. My neck does an involuntary twitch in sync with the ticking clock as my eyes bore into the man's sitting opposite of me. My jaw clenches as he peers over his glasses, giving me a small glance before he begins scribbling something in his notebook.

"So how have you have been feeling, Gina?"

How have I been feeling? Like any sane person would when they saw demons everywhere, thank you. I know he believes I'm crazy; "paranoid" he calls it. He's wrong. They're _everywhere._ They pour their essence into anything they can find; animate or inanimate, corrupting them and using them as a way to spy on all of us. His clock, _that_ clock… he has no idea what kind of danger he holds in his very office.

They won't come for me though; not now. They don't know that I know. But they're listening, I know they are.

"Fine," I answer.

I am so freaking far from fine.

"I see," Dr. Jackman replies, scribbling another note. I watch his pen make exaggerated loops as he writes. My eyes shift to his clock just as his gaze falls on me again. "You haven't been seeing any demons lately, then?" he asks. His look suggests that he knows I have.

My heart leaps in my throat though. Stupid fool, doesn't he know they're listening? If they heard him, if they know I know… I'm dead. We're all dead. The whole bloody world would be taken by force if they knew for even a _second_ that we were aware of their presence.

I shoot him a look of warning. "There are no such things as demons, Dr. Jackman," I reply, a slightly hysterical laugh in my tone. My eyes look to the clock again; I could have sworn the hands turned to eyes. My stomach drops to the floor and I'm up and out of my seat before I can even contemplate moving.

"Gina, what are you doing?" Dr. Jackman exclaims as I grab his clock off the wall, throwing it to the ground. My heel connects with the face and it shatters under my weight. I don't realize how hard I'm breathing until it's over. But I smile, looking up at him. We're safe, for now.

"They were listening," I explain, out of breath and voice filled with relief. "I didn't want them to know…"

And now, they never would.

* * *

><p>I'm tired. Though it's my last appointment of the day, I still do not want to be here. After my Bipolar patient – who was in the midst of a manic episode – tried to stab me with scissors to get "the bugs out from underneath my skin", I had been held up in the emergency room for half the day. I had to reschedule most of my patients and in all honesty I wish I had just gone home after the whole ordeal. However, I do hate getting behind on my work and it was bad enough I already had to push back three people. I assumed I would be able to deal with a mere two more this evening before I retired home and relaxed with a large glass of Brandy; especially because these two patients do not have a history of violence.<p>

I watch Gina grip the edge of her seat, as if she's holding herself back. She's restless and her paranoia has returned. Though there have been days when she's been alright, today did not seem to be among them. I write _'Restless'_ in my notes before I look up at her again. "So how have you have been feeling, Gina?" I ask, knowing she doesn't like when I assume.

"Fine."

She doesn't look fine, but I didn't expect the truth. After ten years of being a psychiatrist, I have learned more patients lie than tell the truth, even when presented with a safe space in which to unload.

"I see," I comment, looking back down at my notes and scribbling on the piece of paper,_ 'Does not seem willing to participate this session. Posture suggests fear.'_ "You haven't been seeing any demons lately, then?" I inquire, fully aware that she has been.

Terror registers on her face and I'm led to believe she thinks they may be in the room with her. "There are no such things as demons, Dr. Jackman," she replies, trying to laugh casually as if I was being foolish. Yes, she must believe they're in here with us. It worries me that she's demonizing this space; it's meant to be a comfort, not a threat.

Her eyes look at my clock on the wall and before I know it she's up out of her seat, heading for it with determination in her eyes. Oh no. "Gina, what are you doing?" I exclaim, though I fear I know the answer. I watch her heel connect with the face of the clock my grandmother had given me and I wince, hearing the glass shatter beneath her foot.

But then she smiles at me, like a wave of relief passed through her from carrying out her act of vandalism. "They were listening," she explains, seemingly out of breath from her irrational bout of fear "I didn't want them to know…"

I sigh, looking at the ruined remnants of something I held so dear to me. I should have stayed home.

* * *

><p><em><strong>I WON THIS ROUND ;D<strong>_


	7. Round 6: Signature Dish

**The Task:**  
>For this task, you will be creating your signature 'dish'. Whip up your favorite subject with a heavy dose of strong, <em>original<em>characters, and a pinch or two of style. This piece should reek of one thing: YOU.

**Rules:**  
>1. You have one week to send in your submissions.<br>2. There is a maximum word count of 3,000 words.  
>3. You must write an original storyline and original characters. No fan fiction.<p>

* * *

><p>The light I woke up to blinded me.<p>

I groaned, shifting in bed. It was firm; strange. My stomach rumbled uncomfortably as I struggled to blink, hoping to clear my vision. When I moved my hand a pinch of pain made me conscious enough to look down: I had an IV attached to me.

_No._

Fear and anger gripped my chest as I sat up quickly, eyes darting over to the door. I knew where I was.

"Goddamn it," I swore under my breath. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, gritting my teeth as I struggled to bring myself to a sitting position. Nausea rode over me in waves and as I closed my eyes I forced back the bile, fingers gripping the edge of my bed as I tried desperately to stay conscience.

What the _hell_ happened last night? Not only did I feel like death, but I had bruises and scrapes nearly covering me from head to toe.

"You're awake."

No shit, Sherlock.

My eyes rested on my new roommate, though the drugs in my system made her look like nothing more than a fuzzy blur. I glared at her in response. Did I really look up to some friendly chit-chat right now?

"You've been sleeping for ages." Her voice was airy as she tilted her head to side, studying me. I blinked heavily before scowling at her as I tried to hoist myself off the bed. It didn't work. I was on my feet for all of two seconds before I lost my balance and had to grab onto the headboard to break my fall.

The girl giggled. She actually had to balls to _giggle_ at me.

"Screw you," I responded groggily as I placed my palm to my forehead, trying to stop the immense feeling of dizziness.

"Do you know where you are?" the girl asked, clearly unperturbed by my less than welcoming attitude towards her.

"I'm not stupid."

Rehab. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. I winced as I heard screaming from down the hall and then a loud bang; clearly I wasn't the only one who didn't want to be here. But I knew that in the state I was in I wasn't going to be able to walk, let alone find a way to talk myself out of here. I settled back in bed, closing my eyes. Maybe if I slept it off…

"I'm addicted to heroin," the girl shared, like this was actually an acceptable topic of conversation. She clearly didn't understand social cues. "What about you?"

"I'm addicted to peace and quiet," I responded sarcastically as I rolled over, trying to make her get the hint. "Now shut up and let me have it."

The girl did shut up, but I had a feeling it wasn't because she understood that I didn't want to hear her voice.

* * *

><p>"I want to sign myself out."<p>

I didn't know how many days I had slept away in there; confined in that awful little room. But I was sure it had been more than enough.

The lady actually had the nerve to look slightly amused by that request. "I'm sorry, but—"

"I'm over eighteen," I interrupted firmly. "I'm an adult. I'm allowed to sign myself out of treatment."

The director of the rehab peered at me over her horn-rimmed glasses, looking a little annoyed that I had interrupted her. "And under normal circumstances, that would be allowed," she answered. My eyebrows got lost in my hairline as she continued, "But we're instructed by the law to keep anyone here that is a danger to themselves or others. I'm sorry Cecilia, but it's in your best interest that you remain here for the time being."

Excuse her?

My blood began to boil in rage and the palm of my hand connected with the smooth oak of her desk. The sound made her jump slightly. "What the hell do you mean, 'if I'm a danger to myself or others'? I haven't _done_ anything!" I shouted.

"Cecilia," the Director scolded, looking at me as if I were nothing more than some naughty child throwing a tantrum. "You were brought here after you tried to jump from a building. Certainly you cannot expect us to let you leave after something like that."

I stared at her blankly. _What?_

"No I didn't," I protested. "You've gotta be looking at the wrong file."

The woman looked alarmed. "You don't remember?"

"I don't remember because there's nothing _to _remember!" I shrieked, far past frustrated at this point. In a fit of rage I stood up and pushed nearly everything off the woman's desk. Pens flew across the room; a framed picture fell to the floor.

"Ms. Thompson!" the Director shouted. "If you don't stop I'll be forced to restrain you. Now _sit down."_

I glared at her, but sat. I didn't particularly favor getting restrained. My arms folded across my chest and I chewed on the inside of my cheek, seething.

The Director took a breath, trying to get back a sense of calm as she explained slowly, "You were in a state of drug induced schizophrenia. A witness told the police that you exclaimed that you could fly and, one could only guess, that you were attempting to prove your outlandish claims. Luckily for you, the building wasn't very high and the awning broke your fall, otherwise you could have been seriously hurt. When the police tried to restrain you, you became violent. The EMTs were forced to sedate you."

I stared at her blankly. I didn't remember a thing about this.

"You're lying," I told her. She had to be.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not. Give it time; I'm sure your memory will return to you. In the meantime…" she took a breath, then continued flatly, "welcome to Sun Bridge Rehabilitation Center." Her expression was less than welcoming, but as I looked at the shattered picture frame on the ground of what could only be her children, I couldn't exactly blame her.

* * *

><p>"Are you going to eat that?"<p>

My expression was stony as my eyes settled on my annoying roommate sitting across from me at the lunch table. "It's in front of me, isn't it?" I asked rhetorically. She didn't seem to understand the tone though.

"Yes," she answered. "So are you going to eat it?"

"Obviously. Will you back off?" I snapped. She either chose to ignore my frustration, or didn't understand it at all. In response she merely smiled at me. It was a genuine smile, which unnerved me a bit.

"You have nice hair," she told me simply. Then suddenly she got up, wandering away to the rec room. The boy next to me sniggered.

"What's her damage?" I asked.

"Mika? Heard she used to drop a shit ton of acid before she switched to dope; screwed with her head something serious," he replied conversationally. I watched the girl through the threshold of the door; she was dancing, even though there was no music. She looked happy though; peaceful. Maybe she didn't realize how screwed up she was.

It would be nice not to know how effed up your life had become.

"Lucky her," I mumbled, watching Mika do a perfect pirouette, then clap for her own performance. That honest, beautiful smile adorning her face couldn't be faked by even the best of actresses and though I tried to suppress it, I felt a pang of jealousy.

* * *

><p>"You're going to scar," Mika observed lightly, watching me. It was nearly lights out and our door had be closed and firmly locked.<p>

"Maybe I'd like to scar," I retorted, my fingers scratching at the scabs on my skin.

I was restless, annoyed, and I wanted to get the hell out of there. It had been a week and I swear I was going insane, if I wasn't already there to begin with. The scratching and the scab pulling, that's normal; it's what tweekers do after all. But the newfound paranoia? That wasn't okay. Every sound made me jump, every movement in the corner of my eye made me want to lash out. Even when I was high I never found myself in a state like this. I was focused and calm. I got shit done.

Then again, maybe this is what happens when you take four different drugs on top of one another.

Two nights ago, I remembered what happened. That wasn't the most pleasant memory I've ever had, gotta say. But I guess when you're high you don't really think about what's smart and what's gonna nearly kill you.

Welcome to the consequences.

"I have scars," Mika mentioned, still trying to have an actual conversation with me.

"Noticed," I said flatly, focusing all my energy into pulling up one stubborn scab. If I'm lucky it'll start bleeding like a mofo and I can remember for one second that I'm actually alive. The sight of what you're made of can do that to a person. "And I gotta say," I went on, still not making eye contact, "you really suck at suicide."

Mika looked down at the scars covering her arms, then back up at me. "I didn't want to die," she told me, not offended in the slightest. "I wanted the memory."

"Screw memories. I wish I was in a freaking coma," I respond flatly, my nail digging into my flesh. I see Mika move off her bed out of my peripheral, coming over to me.

"You need a distraction," she mentioned.

"You think?" I snap, finally looking up at her. Thank you, Miss States-The-Obvious. But I didn't get the chance to tell her to piss off, that I was busy, because suddenly her lips covered mine. My eyes popped open in surprise and I forcefully pushed her off of me once I had enough time for my brain to actually catch up to the situation. "What the hell are you doing?" I demanded.

Excuse me, but could no one else see that I was in my own personal Hell, here? Nowhere in that equation did it equal sexy time! For Christ's sake. Maybe if I wasn't in the frame of mind to tear off my own arm and eat it I'd be down, but right now? No, and _thank you._

"You needed a distraction," Mika explained, not looking at all deterred by my obvious rejection. "You want to feel alive, right?"

"What?" I asked, though mostly out of shock that this girl can apparently see through me. And I tan, damnit.

"Blood. You're trying to reach it; see it, touch it, taste it. You want to sense your mortality and blood is a rather simple way of doing it, right?" Mika reiterated, peering down at me.

"Look—" I tried to protest, not exactly up for sharing and caring time, but I was interrupted.

"My arms," she started, holding them out to show them to me, "I did it too. But there's a better way to get endorphins and use all five of your senses. I was only trying to show you it; the funner way." She smiled at me. Again, a genuine one. Despite it being slightly unnerving, it was hard not to find it almost sweet. "I think you're too pretty to be so sad. Beautiful girls shouldn't cry."

I tried not to let that affect me, but it did. It had been years since someone had called me beautiful. How could they though; when I looked the way I did? Years of methamphetamine abuse had left me looking rather emaciated; my ribs stuck out, my stomach was sunken in, and my eyes looked hollow and dead in their sockets. My skin was constantly covered in scabs from my incessant picking and honesty, I'm surprised I'm not dead yet. I damn near looked it.

"I don't cry," I lied to her, my voice breaking slightly as I shifted my gaze so as not to look at her any longer. I swallow and force a smile. "But thank you."

Guess the girl ain't all bad. Hard to hate someone who thinks you look worth a damn.

"Everybody cries," she replied, like I was being silly. She giggled as she sat down on my bed without invitation and my gaze finally locked back onto hers.

"Even you; the never-ending ball of giddiness?" I retorted, though instantly felt a little bad at how harsh it sounded coming out of my mouth. The girl was just trying to be nice to me.

"I'm happy because I see rainbows," Mika told me, like that made any kind of sense whatsoever, "all the time; everywhere. But that doesn't mean that they don't make me cry."

I furrowed my eyebrows at her, but she didn't explain further. She got up and suddenly the light went dark as she made her way back to her bed.

I stared at my wall for most of that night, wondering what it would be like to see rainbows.

* * *

><p>Mika liked playing with my hair. After our morning group session, we were allotted our weekly movie and we sat on the couch, me situated between her legs as I lay back on her chest. I've lost count of how many movies we've seen, so you can only imagine how long I've been stuck here. But after a while, the harsh cravings and the desperate need to escape dulled to a seemingly manageable level. The program was eight weeks long, or so I've heard. I know I'm nearing its end, but I'm not exactly sure how far I've gotten. Keeping time in a place like this wasn't exactly easy.<p>

Mika's fingers ran softly through my chestnut locks as I picked at my nails, completely ignoring the movie presented to us on the television. It was some chick thing that was completely lacking in the blood and guts area, so it didn't hold my interest for very long. It didn't matter though. I still liked kickin' it with Mika, who after a while actually became something that sort of resembled a friend. She was weird, but she adored me. After all the crap in my life, when someone comes along that actually thinks you're worth a shit, you tend to roll with it. I didn't understand her half the time, but I liked the way she smiled at me; made the stuff in here seem a little less sucky.

I knew she was into me, but I hadn't really given it much of a second thought until recently. Maybe I was too focused on all the 'drug addiction, trying to jump off a roof' stuff to give a crap about my romantic life, but now that I was getting into the semi-stable part of my existence I couldn't help but toy with the idea.

The girl was crazy, but it wasn't a chop you up into a little pieces type of crazy. She was the good type of crazy who saw the world in techno-color and refused to acknowledge that anything bad ever happened. For everything horrible, Mika could find the beauty in it. After you get past the 'what the hell' moment, it was actually kind of refreshing. Maybe it was something my pessimistic ass needed.

"Cecilia Thompson," a nurse called out, making me turn to look at her. When we made eye contact she said, "The doctor would like to see you."

"Great," I muttered, not looking forward to seeing the Psychiatrist. But I got up and trudged over to his office, knowing that if I didn't it would only make things worse.

* * *

><p>"I'm getting released." Even as the words came out of my mouth I still couldn't quite believe it. It felt like I had been there forever. Mika stared me, expression unchanged. My stomach dropped a little and I asked, "Did you hear what I said?"<p>

"Yes."

I looked at her, trying to see beneath the surface of Mika's blank stare to try and figure out what she was feeling. The girl was like a wall though. "Uh…" I stumble, feeing the awkwardness in this moment, "if you want, when you get out, we could… maybe meet up, or whatever."

"I'm not getting out."

"What? _Never?"_ I asked in disbelief.

"I'm either here or I'm in prison," she told me simply, her face still oddly unchanged. "Here is better."

Well, no shit.

I stared at her, wanting to ask what she did to warrant being locked up for the rest of her life. But I knew better. Besides, it didn't matter.

"Hey," I said softly, holding out my hand to grasp hers. When I pulled her towards me our lips connected and I tried, with one simple act of affection, to show her my thanks. Without her, I'd probably still have this dark cloud over my head. Kinda hard to be shitty about stuff though when the person next to you practically shoots glitter and unicorns from their pores.

When she broke the kiss, I promised in a whisper, "I'll visit you."

"No you won't," Mika told me, looking up at me with a soft smile. "But thank you for lying."

I felt like I should be offended by being called a liar, but deep down I knew she was right. I wouldn't want to come back here. This was the point in my life where I needed to move forwards, and staying here wouldn't achieve that.

"I'll miss you then," I revised. Because I would.

"I know," she responded sadly, her fingers coming up to run through my hair one last time. "But the rain can never really miss the rainbow, because it's the reason perfection exists, right?"

I wasn't exactly sure what Mika meant by that, or even if it made sense to the conversation, but it made me smile. It sounded pretty… whatever it was.

**- FIN -**


	8. Round 7: Finale

**The Task**  
>The task is simple: using the back-and-forth style of role-playing, the finalists will write a story. Together.<p>

**The Rules**  
>1. This is not a role-play. So don't treat it as such. This is a story. One of you will start, the other will add on her contribution, the first will add another contribution, etc.<br>2. You must take everything the other writer stated into consideration. If you're in the middle of writing a romance scene and then your opponent has them get hit by a truck and die...guess what. No more romance scene and the character got hit by a truck and died.  
>3. This story is yours to tell. You can do whatever you want, as long as it's PG-13. If you want rainbows to shit jellybeans and Easter eggs because of a leprechaun orgy, go for it. Just don't tell us about the orgy so it stays PG-13.<br>5. The word limit for each post will be 1,000 words. However, over the course of the next two weeks, you will be allowed 2,000 extra words. Use these where you see fit. For example, your first, third, sixth and seventh posts may each be 1,500 words, if you'd like (500 x 4 = 2,000) but the rest of your posts must all remain under 1,000 words, then. And keep in mind, you won't know how many post this story may generate over the next two weeks

* * *

><p><em><strong>( <strong>__**Marluxia**__**)**_

The violin case has sat untouched in the corner of my room since the day he left. I can't bring myself to look at it, although its presence holds a certain gravity that demands my eyes to follow. I never obey, but from my peripherals I still notice the shape of it: curved and blackened in the shadow of my room, taunting me for staying away and simultaneously begging me to come back. It wants me to open it up and attach myself to the instrument within once again, the one that had been every bit a part of me just like my very limbs are. There was once a constant flow of harmonies and melodies in place of my pulse, and I felt it thrumming throughout me to reach my fingertips, curling in the indentations pressed into the surfaces there that never seem to completely fade away. An entire lifetime of these hands, flesh grooving into the strings of my violin, fingers frantically flying across the neck, made me into the man that I once was.

And in one fell swoop he destroyed it all.

Mere minutes after I returned to the apartment, chinese takeout in hand and expecting to sit down and enjoy dinner with my lover, I found Luca's note and immediately considered shoving the case into the depths of my closet, stowing it out of sight and out of mind. Then my grief truly consumed me and I toyed with the more dramatic option of breaking the violin, splintering the wood and snapping the strings so I could set the pieces on fire within the case, watching as the entire thing was engulfed in the flames. But in the end I couldn't bring myself to do anything to it – neither harm nor hide – because my passion for my music was there for me first. It was only Luca who entered my life years ago and truly enhanced that passion, with the love we created together, and with his undying belief in my prowess.

Luca always told me how much he loved my hands; that he liked the oxymoron of them being calloused in the fleshy mounds of my fingertips and aggressive when necessary, but still silky soft and impossibly gentle when it mattered. He would watch me practice, dewy eyed when I put the utmost fervor into my performance, leaving my hands in a blur. He continued watching even after, when I carefully wiped down the wooden body, gingerly cradling the frame and delivering meticulous inspections of its surface, as if it were a newborn child. And after I was done, he'd pull me to our bed, remove our shirts, and demand to feel my hands on him in a multitude of ways.

So I would walk my fingers over his abdomen like I moved them down and across the fingerboard, only instead of digging in they would ghost across his skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake. He'd shiver and sigh his approval, and I'd move to brush over the protusion of his clavicles, this time delving into the craters, earning me more sounds of contentment from his throat. I liked to equate his body to my violin – smooth and supple, sturdy and strong in my hands – complete with f-holes in the form of venus dimples curved into his lower back.

That was probably my favorite part of him.

It was so easy to lose myself in these moments of ours, just like I'd lose myself in the concertos I practiced, and we would spend what felt like hours just caressing one another, learning our bodies as if each pore was a note to be read and memorized. And always, it would come to a peak with my body covering his entirely, the two of us moving together in waves the way my bow brushes across my strings, and Luca, he'd sing for me, the same way my violin would. We created our very own symphonies like this, compositions only he and I would ever hear. It was pure bliss, but it's something I will always keep private.

Even now, it's been a year since he's left and not a day goes by that those sounds don't echo in the hollow of my chest, that the memories don't sway across the forefront of my mind. The music was there from the start, but Luca ignited it in an entirely new way for me, and I can't bring myself to feel the same about it any longer. God knows I've tried, time and time again to walk over to that case and snap the locks open, grip my violin once more and pour the myriad of emotions I've felt about his departure back into bow strokes and intricate note fingerings. I want to compose rhapsodies to illustrate my joys and my sorrows, embody the essence of me that loved so fiercely and lost it all. I want the sounds to carry to wherever he is now, for him to hear it across miles, states, or countries, and to know that I'm still here. I haven't moved on.

But I can't do it. I can't feel the music anymore, and the absence of it frightens me.

Luca took it all with him.

A year ago today, everything changed with a hastily scribbled letter and an abrupt farewell. A year ago today, I woke up to empty space beside me, and I should have known even then what was coming. Not once in our three years together, had Luca not been underneath the sheets with me when my eyes fluttered open to greet him and the morning sun. And although our last night together had been as they always were – full of ecstasy and wonder – Luca had always been unpredictable. I simply never expected an unpredictability akin to heartbreak.

So much has changed since then. I no longer compose to make a living. Instead, I work at the coffee shop a few blocks from my apartment, as a barista. It wasn't my first choice, but it pays the bills, and that's my only concern right now. My morning routine is interrupted by a phone call, and checking the caller ID I read my sister's name – Sylvia. "To what do I owe the pleasure, _amore_?"

"Derek...you will never guess who I just saw walking by your café."

Her tone of voice is rather serious, but I go along with her call as if it were nothing more than a ruse; my mind is still groggy and I'm not feeling up to a cryptic guessing game; I just want her to get to the point. "Some sort of celebrity, perhaps?"

"No, Derek. It was Luca. He's back in town."

_**( **__**Sapphire**__** Smoke **__**)**_

I prayed I heard her wrong.

"I'm sorry, _what?_" A nervous laugh escaped my lips that I tried to cover up with a cough. Though my sister and I were close, I had never felt the need to voice the mind-numbing fear of his inevitable return. Perhaps I should have, because right now I was sure this kind of information overload at the ass crack of dawn wasn't doing any favors for my sanity.

I didn't believe in fairytales; I was far too practical to believe that a love lost could be found again, no matter how many times I had laid awake at night and dreamed about it. Luca would never be my white knight; there was far too much heartbreak involved to ever expect such a ridiculous notion. Yes, he once was my heart, my soul, my muse ... but things had changed. _He_was the one that changed them, without even bothering to give me the courtesy of a warning. He lifted me up so high, only to slam me back down to the ground without a moment's hesitation. So what good could possibly come from me knowing he was back in town?

Nothing, that was what.

It was my own fault though. Sylvia knew how much I missed him; how my life hadn't been the same without him. But that didn't mean I wanted him back in it. Only a sadist would allow someone back into their life that had completely and utterly destroyed them. I wished I had told her that though, because it would have saved me from this moment. I could tell by her tone that she thought she was giving me some kind of hope, or perhaps some sense of peace. What she told me did neither.

What she told me actually made me want to set something on _fire._

"Luca—" she tried again, but I didn't want to hear it for the second time. I cut her off mid-sentence.

"Shit, sorry Sylvs; I'm running late. I'll call you after I get off work, okay?"

I heard her try to protest, but I hung up quickly before throwing my phone clear across the room. It landed on the ground with a crash, but the last thing I was worried about was breaking it. I took a breath, knowing I needed to calm myself before I ended up having a mental breakdown à la Britney Spears. Considering my hair is... well, pretty damn fantastic most days, that would be completely tragic.

Really though, in the end, my hair falls short of what kind of massive heartbreak I'd be in for if I let Luca back into my life again. I was only now starting to slowly pick up the pieces he had left behind; in what _universe_was it fair for him to just come back out of nowhere and screw up the semi-balance I had found?

I tried to look at it logically though: it could be a fluke. It was entirely possible that Sylvia had just _thought_she saw him; after all, Luca wasn't exactly America's Next Top Model. He was beautiful, sure; but in that way that most men are. Having brown hair and an average build, he didn't exactly stick out from the crowd. And really, it didn't make any sense for me to stress myself out over something that I wasn't one hundred percent sure was fact.

Besides, if I didn't get to work soon, my boss would have my ass. And knowing him? Probably not in the fun way.

…

The day felt like it dragged on forever. Though with the constant paranoia in the back of my mind that Luca would show up, it was no wonder. He didn't though; thankfully. As I punched out I couldn't help but entertain the 'what if's' though; what if Luca _did_show up? What if he told me he was a changed man and wanted me back? Or worse, what if he showed up with another man just to rub it in my face? God, I didn't think I would be able to handle something like that. It was bad enough that it felt like my love life was stuck on pause ever since Luca left, but to see that his wasn't? That would devastate me.

"You still comin' to the club tonight?"

I turned to see Mallory standing in the threshold of the doorway, arms crossed like she already knew what my answer was going to be and was challenging it. She confirmed my theory rather quickly when she barely let me get a word out.

"Look—"

"You promised."

She raised an eyebrow at my sheepish look. Yeah, I did promise. But with everything going on right now, I didn't really feel up to a night out on the town.

"Come on, y'know Jenna's gonna be pissed if ya don't show. She's got a whole slew of buff, sexy man-types lined up for your birthday; pretty sure half of them ain't even gonna be dressed." She smirked at the slight blush that adorned my cheeks. The visual wasn't a bad one. "You can't hide away in abstinence-land forever; pretty sure that shit'll kill ya."

I'm pretty sure it was already killing me. But I sigh, relenting. My friends did go through a lot of trouble to set this up; it'd be pretty crappy of me to bail just because I wasn't feeling up to a party. "Yeah, alright. I'll be there."

"Good. We'll pick you up at ten. Wear somethin' pretty."

Mallory winked at me before she walked out, heading back to her register. I shook my head and chuckled softly as I grabbed my coat from my locker. I really should know better than to try to win with her. Besides, maybe a party was what I needed. Hell, maybe a party with a bunch of half-naked _men_was what I needed.

Because if that didn't spell 'therapy,' I didn't know what would.

_**( **__**Marluxia**__**)**_

On the walk back to the apartment, there was an insane part of my mind that entertained the possibility of Luca showing up there, waiting for me when I reached the top of the landing with my key in hand, and just what I would do in reaction to this. Perhaps I'd faint, all the blood rushing to my head and clouding all other functions. Or maybe I'd decide that running back the way I came would be a better idea. Most likely, I imagined I would advance on him in a blind fury, push him into the wall and then...I couldn't finish the thought. I wasn't sure if I'd kiss him or kill him.

I was definitely capable of both.

But the hallway was empty as always when I arrived, and relief fluttered in my chest as I opened the door, hanging my keys on the hook immediately to the left. It had been a stressful day, my equilibrium thrown off by a simple phone call and a few words that I thought I'd love to hear until they were actually voiced aloud. It felt like I was coming full circle after the one-eighty Luca pulled on my life by leaving last year, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to come back to the beginning yet again, unsure of what I would find. Closure, or a flame rekindled? I didn't think there was anything Luca could tell me to make me trust him once more, but then again...I never imagined he would even come back. Maybe that in itself, meant something.

I mulled it all over with a hot bath, even taking a cigarette in with me and sucking out the nicotine in deep pulls, feeling the haze of smoke grip at my lungs tighter with each drag. I had quit smoking months ago, but kept a pack stashed away for emergency purposes. I was doing fine, hadn't twitched or craved the poison even once, and how ironic it was that it would be Luca to be the catalyst setting me back once more, just how he spurned a more profound level of devotion for my music and then, the inevitable termination of it entirely.

Luca could always make me do anything. Something entirely new, something a bit different, or something I never even dreamed feasible. Perhaps this was something dangerous, to be so easily influenced by someone, like putty in the palm of their hands, but all along I always considered it exciting. He was exciting. And I may tell myself when I'm alone, soaking in the water with a cigarette dropping ashes off to the side of the porcelain tub, that I could resist his natural aura of compulsion, but the truth was...I wouldn't know until I found myself face to face with him yet again. Either way, I dreaded that scenario ever coming into fruition.

I hadn't expected what little resolve I had to waver so soon, or so easily.

Towel wrapped around my waist, I padded over the wooden floors to my closet, searching for an outfit. I knew there was a particularly nice pair of shoes I rarely wore on the top shelf, and in tiptoeing to grab them I knocked down the box beside it, which landed on its side and spilled the papers out. "Dammit," I cursed under my breath, stooping down to shove them all back in, seeming to forget for a second that these were old compositions of mine, but the top paper caught my eye and the realization hit.

It was a composition titled "Promessa / Luca," my own handwriting an untidy scrawl above the very first stave. Everything on the page was black upon a white that has turned musty with age and time spent locked away, spikes and blots of the notes trailing across the page in patterns only a musician could recognize as art.

What stood out, were the words in red staining the margins. Luca's writing, a simple group of words stating: _I can't wait to hear you play this for me, Der. Love you._

I couldn't stop the impulse my brain sent to my hand, crumpling the page into a fist before shoving it and the others into the wall of my closet. That particular piece had been, as he wrote...our promise. I vowed to compose him a piece for the two of us and all our promises made, to play it for him when the time was right. And I never did. I slaved over the piece ruthlessly, making changes upon changes because I needed it to encompass the two of us precisely. It never felt good enough, and so I never shared it with him. In a way, it felt like the opposite of what I intended: a broken promise.

I shook my head, wanting to rid my mind of those thoughts and continued to search for an outfit to wear. I didn't need this right now, I was supposed to have fun tonight, not brood over the past. Hell, I'd spent the past year brooding. One night of pushing that shit aside wouldn't kill me.

…

It had been a while since I'd entered the clubbing scene, but nothing had really changed. The music was still blaring, the drinks were still expensive, and the whole building was still like a sauna of too many bodies pushed against each other, either dancing together or trying to navigate around. Jenna wasted no time in dragging me to the bar, ordering several drinks on the spot whilst screaming in my ear things that were barely discernible. I caught phrases such as "a good time" and "meet someone" and merely nodded along when I felt it was appropriate. But all the while I could feel someone else's gaze from my left side, and when that feeling of gravity became unbearable I turned to make eye contact.

I found his gray eyes, dull from lack of light, and regretted it instantly.

_**( **__**Sapphire**__** Smoke **__**)**_

The man who was staring at me was about six and a half feet tall and apparently had lost all conscience decision to dress himself properly when he woke up this morning. He grinned, standing there in what could only be described as a banana hammock gone awry, something that he was far too overweight to wear in the first place. He was covered head to toe in glitter, which made me muse for a second that he looked as if Ke$ha had vomited on him. Maybe that was the look he was going for though. He smiled at me and I tried to smile back, but I'm sure it came out looking like more of a pained grimace.

"Would you ever sleep with a stranger?"

Well, apparently formalities and tact wasn't on the menu tonight. He leered at me, showing off his dingy yellow teeth, and I instinctively took a step back. Jesus Christ, this wasn't what I signed up for tonight.

"No," I yelled over the music, hoping he would get the hint and leave me alone. I was so far past 'not interested' it wasn't even funny. This guy looked like someone crossed a bear with Al Bundy and programed 'serial killer' into his mannerisms.

"Well then hi, I'm John." He shot me a cheeky grin, apparently thinking he was clever for that line. God, even his smile was creepy. He held out his hand for me to shake and I stared at it warily, wondering where it had been. I definitely didn't want to touch it and find out.

"Der!"

I nearly collapsed from relief as Mallory bounded over to me, a look of excitement on her face. She stopped short once she saw who I was with though and a look of sheer horror crossed her face. Yeah, John is one of those people who cannot be unseen. Her horror turned to amusement once she took notice of the pleading look on my face, however. I needed her to get me out of here before this turned into a horror story on the eleven o'clock news.

Thankfully, she did come to my rescue. Just, you know, not exactly in the most tactful way.

"Hey, ya see my boy here? He's a ten. You really think he wants to be kickin' it with a two? No. So ya best get to steppin'." Mallory waved at him in a sarcastic manner before she grabbed a hold of my arm, pulling me away from him. I couldn't help but look back at John and I felt a pang in my chest by how upset he looked. Damn, maybe not a serial killer then.

"That was rude," I tell her once we're far enough away. Not that I wasn't grateful, but the poor guy looked devastated.

"Whatever. We both know you're too damn nice to say anythin' and I'm pretty sure ya don't want all _that_in your bed tonight."

No, I definitely didn't. I sighed, knowing she was right. I've always had a problem telling someone I wasn't interested; I didn't want to be the one to hurt feelings. God knows I've gotten my heart torn from my chest more than once that way myself.

"Come on," she told me, nodding her head a little in the direction of the back of the club. "Jenna got you a lap dance."

Confusion crossed my face. "This isn't a strip club." Then again, with how some people were dressed in here, it damn well could have been one. Really, some of these people had no shame.

"So? Everyone's got their price, Der. And this one? Totally worth every penny; swear to you. Tight ass and rock hard abs... you're so gonna be _beggin'_for him to bend you over by the end of the night, promise."

I raised an eyebrow. "I think you're confusing strippers with hookers again." You'd be surprised how often she did that.

"Who said we didn't get ya both?" she countered, causing me to flush a deep crimson. A lap dance I could handle, but a prostitute? Call me old fashioned, but I kind of liked to have sex with someone I cared about, not someone I paid. The whole situation seemed incredibly awkward to me.

"I don't know..."

"Don't be such a girl. I swear, this dude is top shelf. Take him home myself if I didn't know he was so keen on makin' fudge." She smirked and a look of disgust crossed my face.

"I'm so about to take away your speaking privileges."

"Mother may I?" she responded with a snarky grin. I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the small smirk forming at the edge of my lips.

"Derek!"

Jenna was practically on top of me in a second; hands wrapped around my forearm as she began to lightly tug me. "Come on, we've been waiting for you! Wait until you see this guy..." She looked positively proud of herself. I, on the other hand, was feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"Okay, okay. Just... let me go out back for a smoke first, alright?" I pleaded, knowing that since I didn't have enough alcohol in my system for this yet that I should at least calm my nerves with a smoke.

"Fine, but you have five minutes!"

Jenna's tone was of playful warning, but I took my out immediately and began to weave my way through a sea of half-naked, sweaty bodies to get to the back entrance of the club. The heavy bass was making the floor vibrate beneath my feet and I nearly got slammed into by some drunk guy, but thankfully managed to get out of the way at the last second. It was bordering on boiling in the club so when I stepped outside and the cool air hit my face I breathed a sigh of relief.

My back connected with the brick wall as I began to dig through my pockets for my smokes. As I fished them out, my eyes landed on a couple down the far right of the building, clearly forgetting they were in public by how they practically humped each other's legs. While I never aspired to be that classless, I did miss the feeling of being so caught up in someone else that nothing else mattered. I missed kissing someone and the rest of the world falling away around us; I missed looking at a sea of people and only seeing them. I missed... everything.

I sighed before bringing the cigarette to my lips, now digging around for my lighter. I seemed to have misplaced it though and I grumbled something inaudible, annoyed. _Great._

"Need a light?"

The voice startled me and I looked up, my eyes becoming wide as saucers as I realized who they had landed on. My heart sped up in my chest and the cigarette dropped from my lips, forgotten. The fag was the least of my worries though. I'm pretty sure the list of things to worry about just got a mile freaking longer, actually.

"Are you _stalking_ me now?"

_**( **__**Marluxia**__**)**_

Sometimes I wished I carried a pocket knife on me at all times. Or perhaps even a gun. Because there are just some people I'd never want to be alone with in the dead of night, an alleyway open and inviting right beside us.

Everyone has those really regretful hook ups, maybe even several. I've never regretted any of them more than I did with Rudy. He's not the kinda guy I usually go for, not at all. He's ripped, scarily so, and that's something I'm actually quite turned off by – I don't want to feel up a rock, for Christ's sake.

Jenna had thrown a party just for the hell of it about a month ago, and insisted I make an appearance. Rudy hadn't been planned for me, for once – Jenna always has someone she wants me to meet when she forces me out of my shell – but we found each other at the party either way, two wallflowers kicking back with a beer in hand, entirely uninterested with the enviroment around us. We ended up gravitating toward each other, making small talk that turned into more of a full on conversation and all the while, absorbing beer as if we couldn't get enough of it. And of course we ended up making out in a dark hallway, because what else can you expect of two drunk strangers?

But Rudy showed his aggression then, and being inebriated didn't allow for much rational thinking or behavior on my part. Instead of kicking him in the nuts and returning to safety, I went along with it, fully intending to never see him again. That night just solidified in my mind the reasons why I didn't like to randomly hook up with anyone; you just never knew what you were really getting yourself into, and that rung true even more in the days to come. Before I could warn Jenna not to give him my number, he got a hold of it and called me, asked to meet me again and when I refused, his temper slipped through, but I wasn't having that shit. I just hung up on him.

And then he visited me at work, again, because he asked for this information before I could find ways to withhold it from him. Our interactions there were through gritted teeth and hushed breath so that no one could hear us, but he basically would not give up and leave me the hell alone. Jenna knew by then just what trouble he was causing me, but had no control over the situation. Just three days ago he showed up again as I was closing up shop, and tried to corner me behind the counter and kiss me again. Mallory, bless her heart, walked back into the shop and began hollering away at him to get the hell out and never come back again. I thought I was done with him then, but well...looks like I was wrong.

"We just happen to be in the same place at the same time, Derek. Ain't stalkin' you," he chuckled, crouching down to pick up the cigarette I dropped and holding it out for me beside the lighter in the palm of his hand. "Jenna let it slip she was comin' to the club tonight, and meetin' you here. Thought I'd make a cameo and say hey."

I gave him a blank stare, infused with a bit of _you're shitting me, right?_for good measure, and lightly pushed his offered hand away. "Don't want it anymore," I murmured, crossing my arms over my chest and pointedly looking away from him as he shrugged and lit the cigarette for his own. He chuckled around the butt of the cigarette, and then blew the smoke back in my direction. "Not so happy to see me, are ya Derek?"

"Since when have I ever been happy to see you, Rudy?"

He scowled at that, and I wished I'd kept my mouth shut. I thought about how I'd rather be inside the club, drenched in the sweat of others as well as my own, or hell...I'd even take seven minutes in Heaven with good 'ol John in there than being in this shit storm right now.

"You were pretty happy to see me that night at the party."

The words were flying out before I had a chance to control them, all the frustration I felt toward this man shaken up in the bottle and then popped open, spewing everywhere. "Seriously? We were freaking drunk as hell! That night? Meant absolutely nothing. Less than nothing! I was repulsed by you even then. I don't see how this is such a foreign concept to you and you simply cannot wrap your head around it. I mean, are you really that much of a goddamn idiot that you-"

His hand flew but I was faster. His fist connected with the brick wall instead of my face (thank God) and while he howled in pain, cradling his hand to his chest, cigarette fallen and still burning on the concrete, I sprinted back into the club and practically parted the crowd like the Red Sea trying to find my way back to Jenna. She had to know about this, about how her psycho friend followed us here and tried to knock the shit out of me.

If this was how men were nowadays, I'd rather stay single.

I found Jenna in the same place I left her, and dragged her with me down the hallway in the back of the club where the rooms for supposed lap dances undoubtedly were. Jenna already looked half past gone, but I tried to bring her back to reality.

"Jen, your creepy ass, insane friend Rudy is here, outside. He tried to freakin' punch me just now."

The change in her expression was almost comical – from a loopy kinda grin to a face of utter shock, her mouth making a small "o."

"No way, Derek, oh my God! Are you okay? I can't believe him!"

I rolled my eyes at that. "Yeah, well you should. You know how much of a complete freak he's been since your party. I'm sorry, but I just...I really don't feel up to being here tonight. I'm gonna call a cab home, and I'll make this up to you and Mallory some other time. I promise."

I hugged her and gave her a quick smooch on the cheek before pushing her back into the busy crowd of the club and turning around to find a back exit. I felt horrible, paranoid as hell and I couldn't help but whip my head around in all directions as I made my esccape, my feet moving in more of a jog than a simple walk. I took the alleyway to the street behind the club and found a cab soon after, hailed it down and threw myself inside gratefully, giving the driver my directions and pressing my forehead against the cool glass window to try and calm down.

Even when I arrived outside my apartments I felt unsafe, the entire way up to my floor spent looking warily around. I breathed a sigh of relief once I was within sight of my door, but even then there was something out of the ordinary to throw me off guard.

Piece of white paper. Harsh black letters jagged across the surface. All of it, too familiar.

_D,_

_Call me ASAP, we need to talk._

_607-4435_

_L._

_**( **__**Sapphire**__** Smoke **__**)**_

No. _No._I can't—no. Eff no.

My hand reached up to grab the piece of paper that was stuck to my door, tearing it off the wood paneling and throwing it to the ground without a second look. My heart was pounding in my throat, but I didn't want to deal with it right now. If I was to be honest, I pretty much didn't want to deal with it _ever._Yet there I was, all screwed up and feeling like my world started turning backwards while my head was stuck up my own ass. Like I didn't have enough to deal with tonight? After "Serial Killers 'R Us" and "Rudy the Anger Management Needing Psychopath," I was pretty sure my insanity quota had been filled for the day.

People really needed to start respecting the quota.

My hand shook as I turned the key in the lock, resisting the urge to bend down and pick up the piece of paper with Luca's number attached. Part of me wanted to. I didn't know why; maybe to cry over it, or maybe just to have the satisfaction of burning it. Regardless, I knew my psyche couldn't deal with it tonight, so I walked into my apartment, closing the door behind me. I leaned against it heavily; exhaling a breath I didn't realized I had been holding. As far as birthdays went, this wasn't the best.

I stumbled into bed shortly afterwards, not even bothering to remove my clothes. I collapsed on my mattress face first and tried desperately to shut my brain off. I wasn't sure how I managed it honestly, but I found myself fast asleep rather quickly, despite the circumstances. Maybe for once my brain knew it needed a break, or else I really would end up finding myself on the fast track to a mental ward.

I woke up to blinding sunlight streaming through my bedroom window. When I opened my eyes and read the digital clock by my bedside, I sat up quickly. "Shit!" I exclaimed, realizing I only had fifteen minutes to get to work. With everything that went on last night, I had forgotten to set my alarm.

See? And this is why the quota needed to be respected.

I nearly tripped over my pants as I tried to get them on while simultaneously brushing my teeth. The phone rang but I ignored it, knowing it was probably my sister and I seriously did not have the time. I spit out the toothpaste in a rush and it landed on the floor instead of in the sink, but I really couldn't be bothered with trying to clean it right then. I really should have though, seeing as I slipped on it while trying to get my shirt. I swore when I banged my knee on the counter, having the urge to just rip everything to shreds in my haze of pain and anger. But being destructive would waste time and I couldn't afford to be late.

I pulled my shirt over my head as I opened the door, only to realize I didn't have my shoes. I sighed in frustration and ran back into my living room to retrieve them, making note of the fact that I just wasted another sixty seconds. Mentally berating myself, I slipped them on and headed back out the door. I meant to only hesitate for a second to look at the crumpled note on the ground, only to stop completely when I realized it was no longer there.

God damnit, the apartment janitor must have already picked it up. And okay, maybe I wasn't ready to call Luca just then, but that didn't mean I wouldn't be ready _ever._

Fortunately, I didn't have time to dwell on it. I locked my door and ran down the hall as fast as I could, praying I would somehow manage to make it in on time. I couldn't afford to lose this job.

…

The day went by quickly. We had a rush of customers that kept me continuously busy, though left me exhausted at the end of the day. Even Mallory, who was a never-ending fountain of words and opinions, just collapsed in a chair after her shift. She looked as if she were debating whether she wanted to make the effort of going home, or just pass out where she sat. I couldn't blame her. My feet hurt, my head hurt, and I swore if I heard another order of "Iced Mocha Caramel Latte," I may just scream. Especially since everyone and their mom pitched a bitch fit when we ran out of caramel halfway through the morning.

Though I wasn't opposed to just collapsing on the spot, the call of my own bed won me over. I waved goodbye to everyone as I exited the coffee shop, stopping only for a moment to light a cigarette. It had felt like ages since I had one, considering my break turned out to be practically nonexistent. As the smoke filled my lungs, it instilled a familiar sense of calm inside of me. At least that was until the appearance of someone rounding the corner smacked me in the face like a two by four.

Our eyes met and I knew I stopped breathing for a second. Luca halted too; clearly unsure of himself and his master plan now that he physically saw me standing before him. Neither of us spoke. My legs felt like jelly beneath me and I was sure my stomach dropped to the ground with a sickening plop. I wanted to scream, I wanted to run, I wanted to throw up. Stalking my work was not waiting for me to call; in fact I was pretty sure that was the opposite.

I don't know what came over me, but suddenly I became very angry. There he was, standing there with all his limbs attached and looking relatively healthy. He looked _good_and that infuriated me. I had often thought that maybe he left because he found out he had terminal cancer and wanted to spare me the pain, or because the freaking CIA decided to choose a random civilian, him, for some undercover ops mission. It was ridiculous, but it would be a reason. Right now, he looked fine. He looked happy, healthy, and normal. I hated him for that.

My hand shot out before I even had a chance to think, connecting with his face. He looked stunned, but in that moment I couldn't have cared less. I wanted him to hurt like I hurt, cry like I cried. "That was for running out on me; you stupid, _selfish_ bastard."

_**( **__**Marluxia**__**)**_

I had busted his lip. There was a split in the corner of his mouth and a blot of crimson began to pool in the cut. I had to take a moment to feel proud of myself; these hands may have once nurtured an instrument and now serve freakin' coffee every day – both seemingly dainty occupations – but they could pack a nice punch when they really needed to...I simply seldom ever found the need to.

Luca wiped at the blood with his forefinger and exhaled sharply, perhaps from annoyance or pain, I wasn't sure. "Should have been expecting that" he murmured, and laughed ruefully. "Damn straight you should have been. What, did you think I was going to fall to my knees and kiss your feet, cry and thank you for coming back? Screw you! Why am I even standing here still? I'm going home."

But in turning to walk away, he grabbed me by the shoulder and turned me back around – the nerve of him. "C'mon, Derek. Don't do this. Just...can we talk? Please? I think it's the least you owe me after that sucker punch. Give me a chance to say what I need to say. I didn't come back for nothing."

That alone just made me want to sock him yet again. "Do you really think I owe you anything? Luc, I don't owe you _shit_. And why would you think I even wanted you to come back, to say anything to me? I don't care!"

Of course, that was a lie. I did care, and always would, no matter how angry the memories made me, how deeply he hurt me. It would always come back to this – the need for closure. Closure was a healthy resolve of conflict, and perhaps my lack of it was the thing holding me back from everything my life once was, keeping me from performing and composing again, keeping me from finding a new lover. So I knew I should at least give him five minutes of my time, and if he couldn't captivate my attention within that frame, I could dismiss him.

I studied his face, tried to find sincerity and regret in his features. His eyes were still the same shade of hazel and they seemed glistening, imploring. The corners of his mouth were turned down and he seemed to be clenching his jaw with abated breath, waiting for my reply. It was such an uncomfortable stare down, both of us not blinking as if we were waiting for the other to cave, to either give up or give in.

"Fine," I snapped, finally blinking and turning my head away from him, digging in my pockets for my pack of cigarettes and lighter seeing as I dropped the previous one in lieu of swinging at Luca. I was going to need to keep my hands and mind busy on the awkward walk back to my apartment –- our old apartment. "Let's go, we'll talk at my place."

I always was weak when it came to him. I'd just never really hated myself for it until then.

…

"So uh...when did you take up smoking? Thought you didn't like it..."

I cast him a sideways glare while I fumbled in my pockets for my keys, the dwindling cigarette still burning as it hung from my pursed lips. "A year ago," I answered around it, and he seemed to get the meaning of that as he frowned, his eyebrows furrowing together. Another wave of violence crept over me, but luckily for the both of us, my hands were occupied with the lock and key.

I opened the door and he followed me in, closing the door behind him as I walked straight to the counters in my kitchen. I didn't want to lead him to the couches, because it would feel too intimate, and I wasn't ready for that at all. The bastard could stand and talk to me. His comfort wasn't one of my concerns.

"Well, you wanted to talk, so get to talkin'. Just so you're aware, you're out of here in five minutes flat if you've nothing of importance to say to me."

He was on the verge of rolling his eyes, I could tell. A year away and I could still pick out the smallest of changes in his body and face to indicate his mannerisms. Instead he nodded curtly and crossed his arms over his chest, rolled his shoulders back to make himself taller.

"I know I screwed up a year ago. I know I left without warning. The note I left gave you nothing to go by. I know you probably don't want to hear this, but I'm gonna say it anyway: I'm so sorry, Luca. If you only knew how much I regret that night, you would know how genuine I am when I say that."

An ugly laughter forced its way out my throat; twisted, cruel, and hateful. "You are so full of shit Luca. You need to try harder than that."

He made a clicking noise, disapproval. "Would it help if I said that in leaving, I thought I was doing what was best for the both of us?"

"Oh, that's just even better! Still not your best, I'm sure. Go on, give it another go." I didn't recognize my own sarcasm dripping from my words. I was never like this. I ran away from confrontation, I was reserved and mild mannered, always keeping my words to myself unless I was poked and prodded to the breaking point. But with Luca, it was as if I were carbonation, shaken up in a bottle and someone released the cap. I could have foamed at the mouth, I was so livid.

"I'm serious, Derek. I saw in you a genius, a goddamn Sarasate of the modern age. I felt I was only holding you back. I took your mind off of the thing that was most important to you. I intruded upon your world and your music. And me...I knew you would never love me more than that violin, more than those sheets you slaved over, creating musical masterpieces. I thought..." He paused to sigh and rub at his eyes; simply stressed, or forcing back tears? His voice wasn't wavering, but his posture had slumped considerably. I had never seen this Luca before. This wasn't my confident, boisterous Luca that lifted me up higher and higher each day we spent together. This Luca, the one who had opened himself up to spill his guts, looked defeated, weary.

"I just thought you would be better off, Derek. So I left. I thought you'd continue your work, and I'd soon hear about you composing the score for some new Hollywood blockbuster and raking in millions for it. I followed your name after I left, and when months flew by and the musical world seemed to no longer know you, I knew something had went wrong. And I never intended it to end this way. I guess I just didn't think it through. I should have talked it out with you, we could have worked through my concerns. Maybe I didn't do it because I was afraid of hearing it confirmed - that you didn't really need me after all. So instead I acted on a whim and we both ended up miserable. Some ridiculous soap opera we've got here, huh?"

The air seemed to crackle with the tense silence once Luca's voice faded away. My head, my heart, felt heavy with his words, and there were no stimuli pulsing throughout me, forcing me to react. Instead, Luca timidly took one, two steps closer to me, and on impulse I turned away, giving him my profile and staring at the wooden floors.

"Derek...please..."

There was the crack in his voice that was missing before. And in turning to meet his eyes, I saw that I could swim in them, with the tears that welled there.

"Luca..." I breathed, and backed away a step. I didn't trust myself so close to him, not now that I had been made vulnerable once more. I still wanted to be angry. It was easier.

"You've had it ass backwards this entire time, you know that? You didn't lessen the quality of my work, or my inspiration. You were the entire reason for it all, every single note that I penned down and every note that I played. When I arranged even the smallest of projects and then practiced it after, you were what was at the forefront of my mind. I always considered you a muse, the one who awakened my true talent. And I did need you, so much. Perhaps it was too much. Why else do you think I've become what I am now? A goddamn barista. I haven't touched my violin since you left. My compositions sit unfinished in the depths of my closet. You made me extraordinary...but now I am a far cry from that."

I couldn't look at him anymore. I didn't want to see any tears fall, nor did I want to shed my own. Whatever I had been expecting, it certainly wasn't this, and I felt like Luca had dropped a bomb on me and soon it would detonate if I didn't do something about it.

But what _did_I want to do?

"So where does this leave us, Derek? What do we do now?" Luca spoke for me, almost as if he was picking up the transmissions of my own thoughts. Only thing was, said thoughts felt like white noise, blaring and grating on my nerves; more of a nuisance than anything helpful.

Shrugging, I scratched the back of my neck with an idle hand. "I don't know, Luca. Just...give me time to think. A day or two. That's the best I've got right now."

I saw him nod once and slowly back away toward the door. "Two days then," he said, and his voice sounded hollow. "I'll...meet you at the café again."

He left, the sound of the door closing once again sounding so infinite in an echo throughout the rest of the apartment.

It was the sound I was never around to hear a year ago.

…

I called in to work as soon as I woke up, faking my best sick voice. I knew what I had to do, and it sure as hell didn't involve bitchy customers and serving lattés.

The case was dusty, as I imagined it would be. I grabbed the handle and dragged it away from the corner, wiping away the buildup of a year of neglect caked onto the outside before opening the clasps. Inside, the rosewood still shone, but I knew the time spent dormant had warped the strings, loosened them and send them out of tune.

I still had it in me, every tweak and every pluck of the strings, the pegs, to tune the instrument that was once attuned to me. It felt like a welcome, a reunion, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't shed a few tears as I breathed new life back into my old friend.

Holding my violin once more, I realized desperately I missed it, the feel of my fingers arching over the neck and the bow, ready to play.

I played the first thing that came to mind, and the sound of the bow against the string sounded like a chorus of Hallelujah.

* * *

><p><strong>…And then I withdrew from the competition, coming in second place. Lol. I had too much RL stuff going on at the time to deal with their 36 hour time constraints. Besides, I wasn't invested in this story at all shifty But I did learn that I don't work well with others, because I'm too much of a control freak xD I'll take a 'lesson learned' as a positive thing though.**


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